


Something New

by AGORAPHOBIQ



Series: Reincarnation Ceremonies [2]
Category: Friday the 13th Series (Movies)
Genre: Awkward Romance, Blood and Gore, Childhood Trauma, Death, Domestic Fluff, Fantasizing, Fluff, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Masturbation, Misgendering, Murder, Oedipal Issues, Other, Past Child Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Romantic Friendship, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sexual Tension, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slow Build, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26270911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGORAPHOBIQ/pseuds/AGORAPHOBIQ
Summary: After notorious serial killer Jason Voorhees is dismembered and 'killed,' his only companion, Aspen, ventures into the outside world for the first time since childhood. After spending four years on the outside, Aspen returns to their home to find their dear friend resurrected. The two attempt to rekindle their friendship after their long absence, and in spite of Aspen's newfound worldliness.
Relationships: Jason Voorhees/Original Character(s)
Series: Reincarnation Ceremonies [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910362
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This work takes place immediately after the epilogue of the my first F13 work, "Loved." My first work was primarily focused on expanding on the lore and ideas presented throughout the F13 series. Unlike that work, this one is mostly focused on romantic/sexual elements. It is more focused on living in Camp Crystal Lake rather than lore, and as such, will probably have a more forest-dweller 'slice-of-life' feel.. except Jason is there and he's murdering people. 
> 
> Having read my previous work will help with context, but it is not entirely necessary. I will try to give all of the necessary information from the previous story within the first few chapters of this one. If you'd like additional context for the two main characters' stories but don't want to read 100,000 words of the previous work, you can find Aspen's backstory on Chapter 14 of "Loved" and Jason's backstory (as I have envisioned + modified it) on Chapter 16. 
> 
> Tags will be updated as the story progresses. 
> 
> As always, I appreciate your feedback and critique. Hope you enjoy!

“Pup! Pup!” 

There he was, standing at the mantel. He turns his hooded head to them, his eyes lighting up with delight, but not surprise. Aspen could already feel the tears welling up. Despite their practice over these last few years, they did not know what words to use, or how to piece together these emotions inside of them. Instead, they simply stretch out their arms, pleading. To their relief, Jason met them at the doorway, bent down to their meager height and wrapped his arms around them. To Aspen’s shock and pleasure, he picked up the tiny creature, squeezing them tightly as their legs suspended in mid-air. Aspen could no longer contain their tears, and they escaped in two thin, burning trails down their rounded face. They returned his embrace with all the strength their feeble arms would allow. 

“Miss you, miss you, missed you so much,” Aspen squeaked out through tears, nuzzling their dampened face into his covered neck. Jason could not speak, neither with his voice nor his occupied hands, so he only tightened his grip around his companion. It forced the breath out of Aspen’s lungs, almost tight enough to cause pain, but even that was somehow lovely, as such an action distinct to their dear Puppydog. After a few breathless moments, his grip relaxes and he places the creature back down, gently, their oxfords clicking against the floor. Jason stayed knelt down slightly for a moment, hands resting on their shoulders, to get a good look at his companion. Their eyes were red and dewy, little tears dripping out one by one. He tilts his head at the sight. It worried him to see them upset. Were they not happy to see him after all? Would they not be staying? 

He brought his hands to his masked face, each hovering a few inches from the sides of his face, fingers extended out. He lowered them slightly, mimicking the movement of tears. **SAD?**

Aspen shook their head. “No. So, so happy,” They smiled in spite of their crying, a little wave of relief washing over Puppy. He brought a hand to their face, rubbing off one of the tears that fell, his own way of telling them not to cry. Aspen smiled a little wider, wiping off the other side of their face. Jason could not help but think their skin’s texture felt odd and, upon withdrawing his hand, elucidated the reason. On his blackish-blue fingers, there was an oat-colored residue left behind. He rubbed the affected fingers with his thumb. It must have been some type of pigmented chalk, turned pasty by the introduction of Aspen’s tears. Why would they have something like that on their face? War paint? Who was Aspen going to war with..? And why paint their face if it was the same color as their skin? 

Jason looked them up and down. Now that he looked closer, everything about Aspen looked odd. Their normally frizzled hair was cut to ear-length, now looking slick and straight. In fact, their whole body seemed to be lacking hair, with their legs and arms shaved. Their eyebrows looked to have been carefully preened, forming dark, neat lines where caterpillars once resided. Even their teeth looked different: still retaining their wide diastema and overbite, but conspicuously whiter and straighter. 

Aspen shrunk back a bit at Jason’s perplexed stare. “Pup..?” 

He blinked himself back to reality. Aspen’s appearance was simply overwhelming for him to take in. He didn’t know how to describe it. It wasn’t inherently bad, but.. He couldn’t help but feel that they now looked like.. an outsider. Their smell was rich and sweet, like a rare, luxurious flower, but it was cloying and artificial. The synthetic odor clouded his thoughts and almost gave him a headache. He didn’t know how to address these changes, or if he even should. 

After a few jasmine-laden inhalations, he crossed his index fingers to form an ‘X’ and broke them away from each other. **DIFFERENT.** He tilted his head again, his gaze a little downcast. Aspen could not tell if these ‘differences’ made him sad, or if he was unsure about them, or unsure about his description more generally. 

“Me ‘different’?” 

He nodded. 

Aspen smoothed down their linen dress again, self-conscious by the visual scrutinization they just received. They supposed they probably did look very different to Jason. They hadn’t thought much about it before now. It had all become normal to them. 

“Uh-huh..” Aspen rested their wrist in their opposite hand. “Outsiders.. have many grooming rituals..” Their hand now absent-mindedly stroked their hair. It was one of the things that brought Aspen much grief in the outside world. They had always kept it long, but nobody had hair quite like theirs. It was frizzy and puffy and kind of messy, no matter how much they combed it. All the women had such smooth hair, and they even used hot irons to force it smooth, or to create meticulously-spun curls. Aspen became self-conscious, and decided it would be easier to simply cut it short to make it more manageable. 

Aspen had many stories of the outside world to tell. And many souvenirs to share with Jason. The two descended the stairway in the kitchen into the basement, and traversed the tunnels that led to their room. Jason led the way there, as Aspen’s memory of the route had become foggy, their brain weighed down with silly outsider information like jean sizing, restaurant rituals and blood pressure readings. The memories of the tunnel’s map slowly resurfaced as the two walked through them, Puppy’s hand gently guiding them like a big brother. Sure enough, their bedroom was almost exactly the same as Aspen had remembered it: cluttered with random objects that either of the two had collected, weapons embedded into the walls, a grandfather clock which Aspen suspected would ring every noon and midnight. The bedframe still lacked a mattress or anything resembling one, but it didn’t stop them from settling down on the masses of blankets and scrap fabric that rested atop it. 

Aspen’s knapsack was filled with all sorts of objects brought from the outside world. They didn’t know if Puppy would really be back, but they wanted to be prepared. So they filled it up, first with lots and lots of candy. Puppy loved sugar. In the past, Aspen had been able to get candy from dumpsters behind gas stations and convenience stores, but they were always stale and expired. Not this time: Aspen treated their dear Puppydog to pillowy marshmallows and chewy, sour gummy worms. Puppy’s eyes lit up as they drew each package of sweets from their bag. He stared at the packages in front of him, his eyes glittering as he thought about tearing into them. 

“Go! Eat!” Aspen ushered him on. Wrinkles around his eyes betrayed his expression beneath the mask, an excited grin spreading across his face. There were even _strawberry_ marshmallows. He’d never seen those before! He ripped open the plastic bag and took a single jumbo-sized marshmallow, which looked almost regular-sized in his massive hands. He gingerly squished it, its pink walls deflating under the pressure of his fingers. He watched in amusement as it slowly sprang back to resemble its original form. 

His amusement faded as he looked up at Aspen, tentative. 

“Is okay,” they assured him with nonchalance and a light smile. 

Aspen had seen Jason’s face a handful of times, and usually by accident. He only occasionally took his mask off on his own volition, usually to clean wounds acquired in combat. Even knowing that Aspen had seen his face before, he could not help but be anxious with exposing a part of himself that he hated so much. It was only worsened by Aspen’s absence, and their now-polished appearance. Obviously, the outside world had some effect on their appearance and perception of it. Would they finally realize what a deformed, repulsive monster he really was? 

No, he was not comfortable with that yet. He needed a little bit more time to re-adjust to being perceived by another person. And.. he needed time to ensure that Aspen was still Aspen. Instead of entirely removing his mask, he unfastened the side straps, only the uppermost strap holding it against his face. He leaned his head forward, the mask separating from his face and hanging in the air, but still blocking Aspen from seeing him. Holding the marshmallow with both hands, he bit into it. 

This was not like the many marshmallows which came before it. It did not have a dusty taste, nor the hard shell which stale marshmallows developed. It was soft and rich, the exterior easily giving way to a fluffy, sticky interior. The strawberry flavor was surprisingly subdued, but he did not care very much. He preferred that to the overly-fake taste of strongly strawberry-flavored food. 

“Like it?” Aspen watched with glee as they took their own treat from the bag. Puppy popped the rest of the marshmallow in his mouth before meeting Aspen’s eyes, nodding with blissful enthusiasm. 

Next, he tried a sour gummy worm. It was a similar experience: none of the crust, none of the musk. Just pure, sweet-and-sour delight. He thinks that he liked the taste of the marshmallows better, with their subtle fruitiness. But he liked the textural variance of the gummy worms. As pleasant and soft as the marshmallows were, he liked the juxtaposition of the coarse sugar which coated the worms’ chewy bodies. 

Once he had tried both of his treats, he looked back to Aspen to give his verdict on the worms, but was surprised to see they were eating something of their own. The bag was plastic, and Jason assumed it was candy, though the substance itself was completely foreign to him. He leaned in to get a better look at it. 

“Don’t think you’d like this, Pup,” Aspen says, biting into one. Jason narrows his eyes at them, suspicious that they might be keeping some delectable confection from him. Aspen just smiles and draws another from the bag. 

“Here,” they handed it to Jason. It’s a small, flat, round candy, imprinted with a design that resembled some kind of coin. Jason had encountered candy like this before: chocolate coins, which came wrapped in gold, and which he enjoyed very much. He liked them even more when Aspen suggested he remove the foil coverings. 

But this was clearly not chocolate. The texture was different. It was firmer, and didn’t seem prone to melting-- not that it would melt in his hand, given his lack of body heat. It was also pitch-black. Not dark brown, like dark chocolate: it was definitely black. He cautiously bit off half of the coin. 

It was like nothing he’d ever tasted. The outside tasted a little salty, in the same way that caramels are sometimes salted, but that’s where the similarities ended. It was bitter and sweet at the same time, like sugary coffee. It also had a vaguely musky taste. But the most prominent flavor was this odd, tingly taste, similar to ginger or peppermint. Jason could feel his sinuses responding to it. The only word he could think to describe it was ‘spicy,’ but not spicy like the hot chips Aspen sometimes stole from gas stations. This was a different kind of spicy. 

Aspen vaguely heard a low, guttural sound emit from Jason’s throat, his eyes slowly fading from inquisitiveness to regret. They couldn’t help but laugh at his predictable reaction. No, he did not like this at all. 

The elderly woman who Aspen took care of while living in the outside world frequently ate this type of candy. It was called ‘liquor-ish.’ Aspen wasn’t so sure about it at first, but they eventually grew to love it. It was, without a doubt, a unique and memorable flavor. However, they were a bit worried, given they’d seen many teenagers and college kids do very stupid things after they had liquor. But one day Aspen ate a whole bag, and it didn’t do anything bad, except give them an upset stomach. They figured the emphasis must be on the ‘ish.’ 

Jason held out the remaining half of the liquor-ish to Aspen, who bit it directly out of his fingers, their lips brushing against his calloused skin. 

They sat there together, mostly in silence, eating their candy together. Aspen would occasionally take a break to explain where they’d been the past few years. Jason didn’t say very much in response, but that was okay. Aspen knew he was listening, even if he didn’t talk a lot. It was difficult to say exactly what he meant with such limited methods, and that’s assuming he even knew what to say in the first place. He just stared at his friend, his knees curled up to his chest, chewing on marshmallows as he listened to them. 


	2. Chapter 2

Aspen explained that they knew Jason wouldn’t be able to re-manifest after being killed if someone was in the forest. There was no logical explanation for how his decapitated, dismembered remains could unearth themselves, reunite with each other, and form a fully-functioning, somewhat alive human-ish being. So Aspen left, so that the magic might take place in their absence. Unfortunately, they had no idea how long that might take. Nobody had ever dismembered Jason like that before. Aspen couldn’t tell if his resurrection would be instantaneous, or if it would take decades. 

They also didn’t know where to go. At first, they tried living in another forest, one which was supposedly not haunted, although Aspen was smart enough to know that no place could entirely avoid spiritual inundation. It was just a matter of degrees. Still, it was very difficult to live without their Puppy. Not simply from an emotional and mental standpoint-- obviously that would be a hurdle they’d face regardless of their location. It was physically difficult without Puppy: Aspen had very little strength to gather the resources necessary to build an appropriate shelter, and there were no abandoned structures that they could squat in. They still had a grand total of zero hunting kills. They could make trips into towns to dumpster-dive for food, but that in itself was taxing and time-consuming. They didn’t last very long as a lone forest-dweller. 

So, they had to seek other options. As a child, Aspen was very religious, fond of the magical elements which permeated contemporary religion, albeit concealed under euphemisms like ‘miracles’ or ‘God’s wrath.’ And, they had heard that churches were supposed to help the poor and needy. They found themself at a cathedral in a distant town, requesting assistance from the clergy. They received some short-term resources and housing, but were told that they could only be temporary. Aspen _did_ learn, however, that this congregation had a convent. This seemed a perfect solution to Aspen’s homelessness. 

A background check revealed Aspen had a strange and perturbing history. Their parents died of an unknown illness when they were a child, and shortly thereafter, Aspen went missing, only to turn up ten years later-- which was earlier that year. They were then involuntarily committed to a psychiatric ward for psychotic delusions and post-traumatic stress disorder. And now here they were. 

It was.. ominous and unnerving, to say the least. Aspen themself let off a similar energy, appearing to be not ‘all there.’ But they didn’t seem dangerous, and the nuns believed it would be wrong to judge Aspen for their past, or for any mental impairment they may or may not have had. Many people sought out the church after dealing with personal struggles, some of whom had seedy pasts. So provided Aspen was okay with the terms of the convent, they were allowed to join. 

Aspen liked those things the nuns wore on their heads, and were disappointed that they didn’t get one right away. They were given, however, a cell within the nunnery, which was rather plain, but had a bed and a desk, so it was already better than the forest or the communal shelters. The bed was little more than the bedframe that they had been used to sleeping on with Puppy. Aspen was made to get up _very_ early: 4:30 in the morning, sharp. Chores were the first part of the day. They alternated between nuns, and could consist of cooking, cleaning, laundry, gardening, fetching supplies, and so on. Meals were communal. Prayer was said before and after each meal, and praying after small tasks was encouraged. Service would occupy the afternoons, and smaller group services were held on some evenings. Many of the nuns had special skills or talents that they focused on to occupy their evenings, utilizing them for use by the church. Aspen was not so sure what their skill was yet. They generally retired at eight in the evening, taking thirty-ish minutes to unwind before going to sleep. 

Aspen didn’t mind any of this. They were used to domestic work and saying regular incantations. They didn’t like waking up so early, but everything else was fine. No, it was not any of that which got Aspen kicked out. 

Problems first arose when Aspen began to converse with a woman of similar age, but who had been present for a couple of years already. Apparently, she’d been sent by her parents as a younger teenager to serve God while getting their GED. They sent her after discovering she’d been exchanging sexual pictures and messages with another girl. The young woman proudly declared herself to be a cured ex-homosexual. 

Aspen just stared at them in response to the supposedly inspirational story, thinking about it. The girl… was attracted to another girl..? 

“That’s.. bad?” Aspen asked. The woman nodded. 

“..why?” Aspen did not understand.

The woman told Aspen that such desires were strictly forbidden in the Bible. 

Aspen was unsatisfied with this answer. So they asked again: but _why?_

The woman only ever received praise from the others at the convent, so she was taken aback by Aspen’s confusion and seeming dismay regarding her story. Moreover, she was shocked that Aspen didn’t seem to understand the immorality of homosexuality. She believed that God’s displeasure with such an act should’ve been reason enough for its condemnation, but nonetheless, she attempted to rationalize it to the new recruit. She told them that it was because it was against nature. 

“Have you ever seen two animals of the same sex copulate with one another?” 

Aspen thought back to the forest. 

“Uh-huh.” what did this girl mean? That happened all the time. Aspen was not even fully aware that animals were supposed to have a preference for one sex. 

She frowned at that. Why was this girl being so difficult? She explained, contrary to the implication she’d just made, that regardless of what beasts did, it did not change that God’s purpose was for sexual intercourse to be limited to one man and one woman who were united in holy matrimony. 

“Ugh..” Aspen tries to piece it together. “So.. bad because.. it’s ‘unnatural’?” 

The woman nodded, happy that Aspen finally understood. “To be a homosexual is to go against the will of God. It is hubris.” 

Yes, Aspen _did_ understand, but probably not in the way that the woman had intended. They had always thought of ‘nature’ as a web of interconnected beings in constant competition and conflict, but who simultaneously co-habitated. Humans were only one organism among the many living and non-living entities that inhabited this earth. Humans had their strengths and weaknesses, and the spirits had theirs. But this woman seemed to suggest that entities exist on a hierarchy, with humans subordinate to the intangible beings which watch them. Humans were to obey without question, and could never exist for their own purposes. They were obligated to follow the pre-ordained path ascribed to them, never able to grow as independent beings. 

“That’s.. That’s..” Aspen could not contain their displeasure. “That’s so stupid!” 

They could not understand why they were being disciplined. They were right: it was so stupid. It wasn’t even about homosexuality anymore, it was about this subjugation that they were expected to submit to. They were not above asking for help from the spirits, and even giving offerings to them in exchange. But Aspen would _not_ allow them to control their life in aspects that were totally divorced from them. 

But their superiors did not understand Aspen, either. Why join a convent if you didn’t want to serve the Lord? Well, Aspen wanted food and shelter. That was the main reason. But also, they liked learning about religion. They wanted to learn more about the god of the bible. Their superiors said it sounded like Aspen was more interested in Christianity from an academic perspective rather than a personal one. But Aspen insisted that wasn’t true. Learning about god’s miracles was very helpful to their craft. 

Their craft? 

Oh yes! Aspen explained that they were a witch, a user of the ancient arts. The bible was their first introduction to magic as a small child, and they never tired of learning about all the ways magic was utilized in ancient times, what gods were deemed responsible, and how such powers might be harnessed in modern times. 

For some reason, Aspen was excommunicated. Whatever. Aspen was less concerned about their immortal soul and more concerned about what they were going to do now. The convent was supposed to be their source of food, water, and a bed, but now that was gone. 

With no alternative, they returned to the shelter, staying when they could, doing menial jobs and singing for tips on the street. They had eaten from the garbage many a time, so that was not really a big hurdle. It just wasn’t very pleasant. Sleeping was a bigger issue. Shelters had limited space. They could sleep on the street, but it wasn’t particularly safe. They did their best to find secluded areas, and on occasion would sleep in unlocked sheds or even vacant homes. Not that that was very safe either. There were a lot of trigger-happy men out there, and Aspen knew all too well that trespassing could carry a serious penalty. 

Aspen became informally known in the small town as a mentally-ill homeless girl. Odd, and a little unsettling, but also endearing in their bizarre mannerisms and airheadedness. Most figured they were like many others without a home: estranged from their family, unable to find work because of a condition, and/or a substance abuser. Even so, some felt bad for them. They were obviously young, and while not very friendly, they didn’t seem hostile or dangerous, either. 

Among those who sympathized with them was a local middle-aged woman. She heard that Aspen was sometimes recruited to do small chores for pay, and asked Aspen if they’d like work. The woman’s elderly mother, a Ms. Mary Stewart, was in need of a housekeeper. Their pay would be modest, but regular, and it would certainly be more reliable than waiting for random errands from sketchy townspeople. In addition, they would be able to live with Ms. Stewart in a spare bedroom. Aspen agreed, on the condition that they not be required to touch anyone or be touched. 

Such was how they spent the next three years: cleaning, cooking, helping Ms. Stewart with errands, accompanying her on outings. Initially, Aspen had been worried about the entire situation: would they be expected to talk with her? They knew old people could be very chatty. Aspen didn’t mind having a friend, but they were being paid for this. Would they be paid based on how well their conversations were? If that were the case, they were certain they’d be fired in no time. 

But luckily, that wasn’t the case. Aspen was very diligent at their work, and their employer only conversed with them sparingly at first. Things were kept friendly, but professional. Ms. Stewart knew that Aspen was not their child or their companion, nor would they force them to be. Aspen was a housekeeper and caretaker, hired to do the things which she no longer could in her old age. Still, they enjoyed each other reasonably well. As they got to know each other better, they talked more regularly, and Aspen was not judged for their bizarre manner of speaking or strange interests. They found it good conversation practice, and when comfortable enough, even asked Ms. Stewart about various social customs and rules.. although she did not always give the answers Aspen wanted. 

Eventually, she passed away of natural causes. Aspen found it sad, but not surprising. They had seen so much death in their life that it no longer deeply disturbed them. That said, the woman’s death meant they would have nothing tying them down to this place. No job, no connections. Aspen packed their very few belongings, along with the money they’d saved over the course of their employment. They had no way of knowing whether or not there would be anything waiting for them at Crystal Lake, but they thought it was time to find out. 

***

“Pup..” Aspen finished a final liquor-ish piece. There was an obvious, burning question in the air. “Where have you been?”   
Jason thought about it. The last thing that he remembered was sleeping next to Emmerson. He believed that was his mother, in some sense. Emmerson really was very kind and motherly towards him, until he slit Jason’s throat with a rusted sickle. He remembered wanting so badly to cry out and beg Mommy not to do this to him, but he could not force the words out. Emmerson pulled his head back by his hair and hacked away at his neck. He soon lost consciousness. 

What happened after that..? 

He ‘died,’ of course. He could ‘die’ just like any other physical entity. Even with magic, elucidated rules of the universe could not be broken. Jason’s body would not be able to function after his decapitation. But Jason was not a human, and he was not bound by human constraints, meaning he could come back. But it would take time for the right conditions to develop. His body was dismembered and scattered across the Crystal Lake area by his false mother. Emmerson was smart. Practically, it kept the physical body from being able to regenerate itself. More abstractly, the complete deconstruction of Jason’s body temporarily destroyed his personhood. It would take a long time to recover from such an ‘injury,’ whereas previous ‘deaths’ might have taken a few months at most. 

Then what of his spirit during that period? His existence was more transient than anything. He didn’t exist fully in the realm of humans, as he had no functioning physical form, but he could not fully exist in the realm of spirits, because he would later re-manifest himself. His state was one of isolation. 

That would not be so bad in and of itself. In fact, Jason felt best when he was just left alone. People freaked him out. He’d prefer not to have to deal with them, whether that be hunting and killing them, or actually suffering through the anxiety of a non-hostile interaction. It was the fact that in this state, he was trapped, alone, with only his thoughts and memories to accompany him. He was forced to re-watch and re-play every moment of his life and death, doubting his own recollection of the events, blaming himself for his own misfortunes, sinking ever-deeper into self-loathing and uncertainty. 

But perhaps even worse was becoming aware of the perception that others had of him, their thoughts audible to him in the vacuum of intangibility. Some of those rumors were true. Yes, he was a murderer, although he preferred the term _executioner_. But he was not cruel.. was he? Despite the brutality of some of their deaths, he did not try to prolong his victims’ suffering. Even so, their words made him doubt himself. Were they based in reality, or did they lie? He knew that not everyone believed he was ‘real,’ so for some, telling lies about him was no different from modifying a fairy tale. It still hurt him to think that his motive, always to please his dear, deceased mother, would be twisted into some kind of mindless sadism. 

He knew that he should not care about the outside world’s perceptions of him. They didn’t really matter, so separated from him and everything that mattered. Regardless of what they thought about him, it didn’t change what he did here. He was content with his actions, and had no intentions of changing them. And when he assumed a physical form, he didn’t have to worry about the thoughts of others. It’s not like he was a mind-reader. He just wished he didn’t have to hear them while ‘dead.’ He didn’t want to know what they thought. He would rather be blissfully ignorant. Hearing the thoughts took him back to his childhood memories of enduring the rumors and lies that became an everyday occurrence. And much like then, he was silent, passive, unable to do anything about it. 

How long was it like that..? He became ‘alive’ again in the early spring, and a full seasonal cycle had passed since then. It was now mid-spring. So it must have been a little over a year since he came back. Aspen said they had been gone for four years, so.. three years. That’s how long he was suspended in that state. 

He ‘woke up’ the same way he always did. A horrible, crushing sensation in his chest. He tried to take a breath, only for his lungs to fill with murky water. He recognized this place: the bottom of the lake. Where he first died, and where he’d restart every life after that. He still could not swim very well, so despite the early-evening light visible at the surface, he could not approach it. Instead, driven solely by the terror induced by water filling his atrophied body, he was forced to weakly plod about the sediment of the lake’s floor until he found a shore. He crawled onto the earth, fingers grasping sinking into the loamy sand, coughing and vomiting up dirty, mud-saturated water. Even while dizzy and oxygen-deprived, he recognized the site before him as Camp Crystal Lake. It was his ‘home,’ after all. He was the camp’s guardian. 

And it was, more or less, as he remembered it. His body felt weak-- even if he was ‘alive,’ he would need a bit more time to recover before he was at full killing-strength again. But he was strong enough to return to his dwelling, which had only become more ravaged by the elements in his absence. He had no idea how long had passed since he was dismembered, but it seemed at least a couple of years. He would need to do a bit of maintenance before too long, to ensure his home stayed liveable. But not right now. As he ascended the steps of the porch, he felt dull, throbbing pain in his legs where they’d been cut apart. Apparently, the nerves had not yet fully reattached. He hoped he’d never have to suffer through dismemberment again. 

All of his precious things still sat atop of the mantel, and the house appeared largely undisturbed. He figured that his ‘killer’ had summoned the authorities here after he was killed, but they never seemed to mess with his things unless absolutely necessary. Even the police of Crystal Lake felt it would be extremely bad luck to meddle with the executioner’s belongings. The bodies of his victims were gone, as he expected. Aside from that, the bedding in his mother’s room, as well as other objects, such as the rug and a few furniture objects, were taken. Jason had been ‘killed’ and his body broken down in this room, so the bloodstained objects were probably seized. It hurt to have his mother’s belongings, which he had so carefully maintained over many decades, desecrated and taken from him. But there was nothing that could be done about it now. He figured even if they were left here, it would be impossible to remove the blood after.. however long it had been. 

Aspen was also missing. 

When Jason told him that he thought his mother had been reincarnated as an outsider, Aspen lashed out at him. He was so convinced of this outsider’s legitimacy that he even considered killing Aspen should they interfere. As it turned it out, Aspen was right: the outsider was not his mother after all. Or, if they were, then she clearly did not love him enough to stay with him, despite the loving words she’d so often whispered to him. The thought that the reincarnated version of his mother might have granted him the most gruesome, difficult death he had ever encountered was too much for him to bear. He decided not to believe that. Sure enough, before long, his mother’s voice returned to him, praising him like she always did. 

But.. what of Aspen? When he was ‘dead,’ he could vaguely remember someone telling him that they’d return to him someday. Was that Aspen? If so, where did they go? When were they coming back? He didn’t know. From what Aspen had told him of their life before coming to Crystal Lake, it sounded like they had few known relatives: their parents died from the illness that they’d given them, both sets of grandparents were deceased, and they knew little to nothing of their extended family. The only exception was an older brother, who they talked to once a year until their parents’ death, always over the phone on their birthday. They didn’t sound particularly close. Did that mean Aspen was out there on their own, fending for themself? Jason knew how useless they were with self-protection, and his perception of the world was of a very cruel, heartless society. But he couldn’t do anything about it, even if he did know where they went. He was the guardian of this forest. He couldn’t just leave. 

So he waited for their return, carrying on through that spring preparing for the homicidal activities that would surely consume his summer. Jason could not have known the flurry of publicity that his last set of killings had caused. Two college students and one cop were viciously killed: the first with a gash running down his torso and a machete stabbed through his skull, the second decapitated, and the cop with an arrow through his chest, eye, and mouth. It was horrific. Another young woman, who was also an online celebrity, disappeared, her body never found. And of course, a teenage girl who was missing for a decade was found in the camp, claiming to have lived with the mythical killer since they were just nine years old. Online communities had a hayday picking apart the events, speculating about the lives and deaths of the victims-- and the legendary killer himself-- as if it were the subject of a movie or TV show. They anxiously awaited development to the story, and some even sought out the answers themselves, foolishly venturing into the abandoned campsite which had claimed at least three lives that same summer. 

Except, their hubris was never punished. Jason was not there to rid them from his territory. Rumors spread that one person survived Jason’s massacre, and even ‘killed’ him before leaving Crystal Lake. Combined with the testimonies of trespassers who escaped the campsite unscathed, many assumed this rumor to be true: Jason Voorhees was finally dead. An influx of explorers and curious outsiders flooded the camp over the next three years, some documenting the haunted site, others visiting for the simple pleasure of being able to say they went and survived. Of course, they couldn’t have known that their monopolization of the campsite would end after just three short years. Jason was astonished when the summer he returned yielded dozens upon dozens of outsiders. Prior to his recent ‘death,’ visitors were dwindling every year, and now they returned in droves. 

Needless to say, he was quite busy that summer. Setting traps, butchering animals as warning signs, slaughtering teenagers and college students, breaking down their bodies, offering them up to his mother upon her shrine. It had been a long time since he had been so busy. He slept most days simply from the mental toll that the executions and corpse preparation took on him, even though his body didn’t physically require it. He’d then awake in the evening to dispatch any outsiders that may have been present. He felt it was a productive summer, even if not a very fun one. He was sure his mother would be very proud of how hard he worked. And sure enough, he heard her voice praise him all through that summer. He was such a good, special boy. 

By September, most of the visitation ceased. That was fairly consistent with the typical pattern. Only a few stragglers entered his territory after August, and they were usually hunters unaware of the location’s significance, or children who wanted to prove their bravery to peers. He wouldn’t kill the kids, but he would scare them if they lingered too terribly long. He tried to ignore the hunters under the reasoning that they generally didn’t mean offense, even if their ignorance itself was offensive. But outsiders in his territory felt like insects skittering under his flesh. There was only so long that he could tolerate the feeling before it became unbearable. 

In the summer, he had so much to do that he hardly even had the time to become lost in his thoughts. But once autumn rolled around, all he had was time. It was the first time he’d be without a companion for the cold months in over a decade. He had almost forgotten what he even did during those times. He mostly just slept, it seemed. It was preferable to overthinking, which was too easy to become caught up in. He would sometimes spend time working on solitary projects. He always enjoyed painting and drawing. He could read, although not very well, generally requiring a dictionary if he attempted to read anything above a middle-school reading level. There were also some domestic activities, like sewing up destroyed clothing, fashioning decorations from bones and debris, or maintaining his home. But no matter what, his mind would always drift off into replaying his most painful memories. He would find himself questioning why such things had to happen to him, and he worried about the future. He would get no answers, no matter how much he thought about them. It would always be easier to sleep once those thoughts started, to keep them from spiraling out of control. 

He thought a little about Aspen. 

He liked them. They were perhaps the only friend he’d ever truly had. But they fought so much about the outsiders. Every summer, they’d chastise him for his killings. They never left, of fear they might spread their illness to other humans, so they had to stay here. They tried to change him, and Jason began to resent them for it. They hated each other a bit, but had to stay together. Like an old married couple, or a pair of siblings. In the last few years before his death, he viewed Aspen as marginal to his true purpose of existence: to please his mother by keeping their resting place clean of outsiders. That was his purpose before Aspen, and he figured it’d be his purpose long after. So he was really willing to kill them if they got in the way of him and his mother. 

But now that they were gone, he wondered if that would’ve been a mistake. With the false reincarnation gone, he had his mother’s voice back, giving him the strength he needed to continue his slaughter. But even so, it felt like something was missing. The whole goal of Jason trying to bring his mother back, whether in her original form or in the body of someone else, was to be able to physically be with her. To be with another physical being was completely different from being with a voice or a memory. And now, without them here, his home felt.. vacant. He never would have imagined he’d feel that way until Aspen was actually gone. 

He slept through most of that terribly unproductive autumn. Despite doing very little, his mother still praised his efforts. Her voice helped him get to sleep. If he needed to be awake to take care of some hunter, she would help him stay focused. 

Winter was perhaps even worse. The cold was only more of a reminder of barren emptiness. The cold was particularly bad that season, and even tunnels became almost unbearable. He ended up cleaning and reorganizing his entire bedroom in the underground so that he could form a small firepit in the center of the room. He kept it fed with the firewood until he ran out. The warmth of the flames as he waited for sleep was akin to a gentle hug against his frostbitten flesh. 

Spring came a little early this year, maybe as nature’s apology for the unusually bitter winter. By early March, the snow had melted, existing only in small, slushy patches, and tiny sprouts beginning to break through the saturated soil. Jason had no way of knowing whether or not this summer would be as hectic as last year’s, but he began his preparations anyway, setting his bear traps and tripwires, interspersed with the usual chores of gathering firewood and repairing the exterior of the house. 

And then April. This morning, he felt something odd. There was an itching in his skull, like an outsider was about to approach. Then it subsided. Sometimes it happened if somebody got very close to his territory, but didn’t actually enter it. But someone.. was still coming. He could feel their soft footsteps moving down the main road. They moved leisurely, but did not stop until they reached the campsite. They mulled around there for a little bit, before traversing into the woods. Their movements seemed purposeful, and their direction.. was clearly towards the home. His home. Whoever it was knew about his home and they knew exactly how to get there. Jason figured there was only one person who it could be. 

“..Pup?” 

He snapped out of his internal recollection. 

“Where have you been? Over these four years?” 

He had begun tracing his memories of the past few years in an attempt to relay it to Aspen, but got lost in them. He wanted to tell them about the experience of being ‘dead,’ and of waking up at the bottom of the lake, and mother’s voice coming back, and how there were so many campers again, and how he missed them. He heard their promise, and he was waiting for them to come back. 

But he couldn’t. He could not form the words at his lips, or summon the voice from his throat. He couldn’t even formulate how to sign all of it. 

He just shrugged.


	3. Chapter 3

After finishing half of his bag of marshmallows, Jason was beginning to look sleepy, and Aspen left him to rest. They had almost forgotten how fatigued he can get just from his emotions alone. His eyes could be very expressive, but there was only so much they could convey. With most of his face covered by his hockey mask and unable to speak, he came across as much more stoic than he actually was. Aspen also knew he wouldn’t ask them to leave him to sleep no matter how long they stayed. He would just doze in and out of consciousness until they noticed and left on their own volition. It was beginning to look like he was following that pattern yet again. Some things never change, huh? 

While Puppy slept, Aspen returned to the main house. Not too terribly much had changed. It could be cleaner, but it wasn’t falling apart, at least. Aspen went upstairs, into Jason’s childhood room. It was as it always was: overflowing with childhood toys and knick-knacks that he never bothered to clean out. Unsurprisingly, it also looked like it had been unused for some time. In fact, Aspen thought they might’ve been the last person to interact with anything in this room. Upon seeing “JASON” carved in the bed’s headboard, they couldn’t help letting a sad smile slip. The room was always uncomfortable to be in. Clearly, the toys and drawings with faces that were burned mangled, or crossed out were indicative of a very disturbed person. But Jason was also just a child when he lived in this room. In spite of the ominous negative energy that pervaded the room today, it was once the home of someone quite innocent. 

Down the hall was Pamela’s old room. Aspen was, at first, surprised to see it looking relatively empty. The bedding was completely stripped away, leaving only a bare mattress on the bed frame. The rug and even the curtains were gone. They realized that Emmerson was probably in here when he ‘killed’ Puppy. The thought made their stomach turn. But there was no use now. He was back now. 

And then the bathroom. Aspen considered whether or not they really wanted to go inside. They never had a good experience in that room. It was where Pamela’s head resided, the room having been refashioned into a shrine devoted to her. Aspen was doubtful that Pamela’s spirit still resided in this world-- they really wondered if the voices that Puppy heard were just his imagination. It just made them depressed to consider he might be causing himself and countless others an indescribable amount of pain for the sake of someone who wasn’t even there. 

But if Pamela truly wasn’t there, then going in this room shouldn’t hurt them. Gently, they opened the door, met with the unforgettable stench of rotted blood and viscera. It was, however, surprisingly subdued compared to their memories of the smell. Inside, the bathtub which served as a sort of sacrificial container was mostly empty, only a shallow layer of blackened blood and clots coating the very bottom. It was spring, after all. Probably no recent kills. For the same reason, only a couple of candles were lit. Her spirit didn’t need to be called to see an empty altar. 

The drawings on the wall remained as well. They were sigils, actually. They’d taught Puppy how to make them to trap spirits of his victims. Aspen couldn’t hear the spirits’ voices, but assumed they were still there. And sure enough, in a hole in the ceramic-tiled wall was the mummified head of Puppy’s mother. 

“Hi, Pamela,” Aspen greeted her with perhaps an inappropriate degree of casualness, given this was Pamela’s shrine. Aspen closed the door, only the tiny candle flames lighting the walls. They could no longer even see the head in its cavern. 

“Are you there, Pamela?” Aspen waited a few moments. As usual, they got no response from the dead woman. 

“I see. Okay.” They were unsure whether or not they were just talking to themself. Maybe Pamela really was there, and she just hated Aspen. Either way, Aspen left as unceremoniously as they’d entered. The dusty, stale air of the hallway was practically heaven in comparison to the rot of the bathroom. 

At the bottom of stairs was Aspen’s only other bag, save for the knapsack carrying the candy. It was fairly small and light, containing only some clothes and a couple of sentimental objects from their time on the outside. They didn’t really own anything else. They did bring a few supplies, although maybe it would’ve been prudent to stock up on more before coming back, but they were a little unsure whether they would actually be staying here after all. They had no confirmation that Puppy was alive again. Aspen knew they should’ve believed in him, but the secular world had taken a toll on their belief in the preternatural. 

Aspen wanted to return to him, but there was no way it’d been long enough, so they settled on going outside one more time. It will be May soon. The air is still a tad brisk for summertime campers, but there are occasional early birds. It’d been a long time since Aspen had seen another human being die in a violent way. The outside world was obsessed with violence. Gore and murder were everywhere in their entertainment, but it was nothing like actually watching a real, living flame be snuffed out. 

They just hoped they were ready for it again. 

***

Upon waking up the next morning, Jason was gone. It was neither surprising or unusual, given that he lacked the need to sleep as much as a human. Aspen checked the clock: it was just past nine. A little later than they’d been accustomed to, but it was an emotionally-taxing day yesterday. Apparently it was for Jason as well, who had slept for most of it. Who knows when he actually woke up. 

Aspen ventured outside to find it a little warmer than the day prior, and although a tad muggy, it lacked the oppressiveness of summertime heat. They certainly preferred it that way. Prior to going to bed last night, they had tried to create a list of the chores which would need to be accomplished before summer came. It was difficult to do, and Aspen had forgotten much of the work that occupied their time during their previous inhabitance of the camp, having become accustomed to the conveniences of outside living. But in the forest, they would have none of it. No grocer, no running water, no electricity, no air conditioning. They thought it strange, thinking how returning to their old way of life, which at one time felt so perfectly natural, would be a major adjustment. 

Even in the case of domestic chores, they would prefer to spend their time outside today whenever possible. They often spent a significant chunk of time in the tunnels during the summer, sheltering themself from the heat. But for now, there was no real reason to stay inside, except perhaps in the case of rain. Their old job kept them inside for most of the day, through all seasons and weather conditions, and Aspen was looking forward to enjoying springtime. Besides, the interior of the house, as well as the tunnel, were currently too dusty to be comfortable on Aspen’s lungs, and no dust gathers outside. 

“Pup?” Aspen called out to him as they walked onto the porch. No response. They walked around the back, where the ax and firewood were stored, and did not find him there, either. They assumed he must have either gone to the campsite, or was setting up traps elsewhere in the forest. 

And sure enough, that was exactly what Jason was doing. Setting and keeping track of the traps, including carefully planning their locations throughout the forest so that they might be reasonably interspersed, was arduous enough. But once a trap was set, it needed to be maintained. So his days frequently began this way, particularly in the spring and summer, when both animals and humans were most active. Some would be set off, but the prey was wiley enough to escape from it or avoid its grasp entirely. Other times, a trap would have something inside: a raccoon, squirrel, coyote, et cetera. If it were alive, he would have to determine if its injuries were survivable, or if he should put the unlucky creature down. Unlike most hunters, Jason took no great pleasure in finding some animal caught in his traps. It was a burden more than anything. The traps were meant for human prey, after all. He could find uses for the animal bones and furs, but had no use for meat or viscera, as he lacked the need to eat. It felt like a massive waste to throw away such significant parts of the animal, so he was glad Aspen was here to consume them. 

Sure enough, he found an opossum within the jaws of a bear trap. It did make him a little sad. He thought opossums were cute. Its large, black eyes were tightly shut, its cream-colored, furry face peaceful. It looked as if it had simply fallen asleep. Jason would have thought that was really the case, had its abdomen not been dyed red and sliced open. He removed it, reset the trap, and carried it back to clean a bit later. 

Approaching the house, he saw Aspen just sitting on the porch, their feet resting on the top stair. Their head was tilted upwards just slightly, eyes gently shut, breeze ruffling their black hair-- a little tousled and wavy from sleeping. They really did look.. different. It was Aspen, but.. a different version of them. They looked like the Aspen that they would’ve been, had they never come to live at Camp Crystal Lake in the first place. Clean of the dirt, carefully preened and put in fresh, brand-new clothes. Like an outsider. 

Jason didn’t like that. It felt like Aspen had changed too much. But more than that: it seemed that they were getting along just fine in the outside world. They’d lived out there for four years. There were very tough spots, sure, but they eventually settled in quite well. They learned how to navigate that world, and assimilated into it. It was an experience that Jason never had, and never  _ could  _ have. It would be impossible for him. He wasn’t even a human anymore. 

So he wondered: why did they come back? Aspen had come to Camp Crystal Lake in the first place because they believed they couldn’t live anywhere else: at nine years old, they were given a curse that would eventually kill anyone who touched their skin and then dared to leave them. Aspen ran away after inadvertently killing their parents, believing that they would inevitably kill more people if they lived around them. And then they found Jason, who they could not kill, because he was not human. Wasn’t that why they stayed here? And yet, they came back, despite successfully living among others for several years. 

Upon opening their eyes, Aspen looked over to him. He was just standing there, watching them. He wasn’t sure how long, but now he felt self-conscious. Aspen either didn’t think anything of it, or did not care. 

“Puppy!” they called out to him, motioning him over. He obeyed, carrying the opposum. 

“In a trap?”

He nodded, setting it down on the porch railing. 

“I see.” Aspen also thought it a shame. They liked opposums, too. But they were a little happy that they’d have fresh meat soon. 

Jason did not say anything upon setting down the rodent. He just fidgeted with his fingers, looking down slightly, anxious about something. 

“Something wrong?” 

He briefly looked to them and, after a second, looked away and shook his head. He was obviously lying, but Aspen knew better than to pry. He’d just get upset. 

“Okay.” 

Despite the moderate warmth today, Jason wore his winter coat out of habit. Aspen was always a little confused as to just how his temperature regulation worked: his body always seemed very cold every time they had a chance to touch him. So maybe he did not risk overheating like a typical human? He did seem to become cold in the winter, though, so temperature didn’t seem completely irrelevant. In any case, that coat was the first chore on their list. 

“Take off your coat.” 

Jason was visibly surprised at the command, tilting his head at them and hugging his body slightly, as if Aspen might try to forcibly take the coat. 

“A tear. In the elbow. Will patch it up,” Aspen drew a circle in the air with their pointer finger. 

Jason twisted his head over his shoulder-- Aspen was right. They’d noticed last night that there was a sizable hole in the elbow of the jacket. They didn’t care too terribly much about holes and tears, so long as it didn’t interfere with the clothing’s function. But this tear exposed the down, and it was probably leaking out in small bits. Right now that wasn’t a big problem, but it would be in winter. Best to patch it up before it got any worse. Jason put his hood down and began removing it. 

“Ack! Pup’s hair!”   
Oh, right. Jason had forgotten about that. Back in the day, he’d just shave his head because it was easier, but Aspen wanted him to grow it out. So he did. They always maintained it, so in their absence, it became.. well, ‘a mess’ would be an understatement. The straps of his mask did very little to contain it, and the matted, frizzled strands stuck out in every direction off of his head, forming a puffy, ginger-colored mass. 

“Ugh.. will take care of later..” Aspen just hoped it could be fixed. They liked playing with his hair in the past, on the rare occasion he would allow it. 

Upon taking off his coat, Aspen spread it over their lap after producing a small case from their dress pocket. Inside were various needles, pins, and neutral-colored threads. 

“Take a break, Pup.” they patted the porch. “Sit with me.” He complied, albeit a bit nervously, unsure of where to go or what to do. Similarly to how Aspen had done, he sat on the edge of the porch, resting his feet on the top stair, about a two-foot distance between him and Aspen. But he was much taller than them, and sitting in this position brought his knees to his chest. He just accepted it, wrapping his arms around his legs, silently watching as they sewed. 

“Puppy.. the house. The boards.. kind of falling apart.” 

They certainly were. Parts of the house’s frame were starting to rot, from fungus or molds, or were being eaten away by insects. Other areas were weather damaged, and few spots had damage from.. conflicts, which occurred inside or around the house. This had been brought up by Aspen before, but Jason had a slight aversion to making such modifications, even if the repair was entirely necessary for the house’s structural integrity. He wanted to retain his family home in its original state. If every board of a boat is replaced, is it still the same boat? 

“Just the worst ones, maybe.” 

He nodded. A little bit at a time, and see how he feels about it. 

The two sat there wordlessly, Aspen carefully looping the needle through the fabric, Jason watching. He could sew, but he was not as adept, or as fast, as they were. The only sounds were the high-pitched songs of the vireos and flycatchers, the thumping of woodpeckers, and the whispers of the swaying branches. They were both used to relative silence between them. Jason was technically always silent, and Aspen felt no need to fill the air for its own sake. They just enjoyed each other’s company. 

Aspen tied up the loose end of their thread and showed the sleeve to Pup. On the elbow was now a mocha-colored scar. The thread didn’t really match the olive green of the coat, but he really didn’t mind. He nodded approvingly, and Aspen smiled at his praise. 

“I’ll wash it for you, too.” Aspen didn’t want to say anything, but it was pretty filthy, at least in part from carrying the dead opposum. 

They moved to get up and take the jacket inside, but were stopped by a double-tap on the porch. Jason was looking at them, hesitant. They already knew he was going to address what he was anxious about earlier. He was too predictable. 

He brought his fist to the side of his head, pinky extended, and flapped the rest of his fingers twice. He brought the hand out, all fingers extended except the thumb, which was tucked into the palm. He then moved it in towards himself, middle and index finger forming an ‘L’.  **WHY RETURN?**

Oh. This was not the question that Aspen was expecting. The immediate answer was that they’d made a promise to come back, but they didn’t want it to seem that they were simply brought here by obligation. There was the fact that Jason was the only person who Aspen knew they could get close to without consequence, but that also seemed like an answer of resignation rather than genuine want. 

“Think I… belong here.” Yeah, that was the answer they were satisfied with. It was true. They really didn’t feel like they belonged outside this forest. This was their home, even after seeing what the rest of the world had to offer. 

Jason was surprised by the answer. Aspen thinks they belong at Camp Crystal Lake. But they seemed like they did fine on the outside. More than that, Aspen was among the very few people who he allowed into this place, but he didn’t really think of it as  _ their  _ place. This was still his territory. Aspen was not an outsider: they were more like a visitor. As in, allowed here, but not expected to stay indefinitely. He’d always got the impression that they were here only because they had to be. But now they said they belonged here. Was that true? Was this space theirs, as well as his own? And if so, what did that mean..? 

He didn’t know if he felt the same way. 


	4. Chapter 4

What did it mean to belong somewhere, anyway? Everyone wants to belong to a certain degree, but is it something you had to request from those you wish to gain the acceptance of? Or something that is found internally? That is, if Aspen truly wanted to ‘belong’ at Camp Crystal Lake, was it a matter of changing themself, or appealing to Jason? Or was it both, or did one necessitate the other? 

They pondered it. Jason never responded when they gave their answer, and they weren’t sure what to think of it. He was usually quiet. It wasn’t unusual for him to not respond to them, unless asked a question. Still, it just.. felt like the sort of statement that required an answer. They would not be able to shake the feeling of unrest until they figured it out. 

Noon rolled around and Aspen paused their chores to eat lunch. They had bought a loaf of bread prior to coming here, carefully wrapping and stowing it into their knapsack. While they were able to make it themself at home, bread was not something Aspen could find premade very often. It was usually either stale or moldy when they found it in garbage bins, the former being unpleasant and the latter inedible. And because Aspen only scavenged at convenience stores and gas stations, it was invariably the cheapest kinds of bread: pale and sweet with obnoxiously soft, almost sponge-like interiors. This was no such bread. It had a toasty, golden exterior and aromatic center, with a savory and subtly sour taste. The whole loaf cost four dollars, but it was worth it. They finished a quarter of it, wrapping the rest as tightly as they could, praying it would not become stale. 

They could hear throughout the morning, and continuing into the afternoon, the sound of an ax splitting chunks of wood into splinters. Jason had set out to chop down a few young birches and pines, and succeeded in finding and dragging a couple back to the house. Since then, he had been cutting them up, shaping planks to replace the decaying ones on the house. It would take a while to fully prepare them: they would need to be feather-edged before use, and the sizing more or less standardized. It was not an easy task without a saw, but Jason felt himself competent enough with just an ax. 

Aspen walked around the house to the back to see Jason chopping the wood, his back turned away from them. His coat still removed, his arms were fully visible in a black, sleeveless undershirt. Aspen just watched his movements. It’s not like Jason looked like a bodybuilder, or the ripped men on television and in movies. He became strong simply through the labour of his life. Sure, he was big, but he didn’t look perfect or sculpted, and Aspen liked that about him. They just stood there, watching him work: the tensing of his muscles, the veins in his wrists as he gripped the ax. He stopped for a moment, bringing the ax down. His heavy, deep breaths were just barely audible. 

His head turned sharply to Aspen, meeting them dead in the eyes. 

“--eek!” 

Aspen squeaked, terrified by the sudden threat. Jason seemed almost just as scared, stumbling back a couple of steps. 

“S-sorry!” 

Jason’s face softened slightly and his posture quickly returned to normal, although Aspen was still somewhat spooked. They’d seen others get that death glare, and holding the ax didn’t help much. Aspen also couldn’t help being embarrassed afterwards at having been caught eyeing him. They just hoped he didn’t think anything of it. 

“U-um.. Came to tell you.. will rain soon.” No, that is not why Aspen came to him, but it was probably a factual statement nonetheless. Jason looked up at the sky, completely blocked out by pewter-colored clouds. The breeze had picked up since this morning, bringing with it a slight chill. 

He looked over to Aspen and shrugged. Yeah, it probably would rain. What of it? 

“Should not get wet,” they insisted, their lower lip curled slightly. “Come here.” 

Jason looked at the timber, then to Aspen. He looked slightly reluctant, wanting to finish the chore soon, but his companion would not allow it. He could not argue with them, so he simply followed to the front. 

There, Aspen sat back on the porch, though further under the veranda, so as not to be afflicted by any coming rain. They motioned him to sit as well, and he obliged them. 

“Here,” Aspen moved behind him and lightly fluffed his hair. “Let’s work on this.” 

Jason let out the most emphasized sigh he possibly could. 

“Pup! Don’t be dramatic!” Aspen knew he wouldn’t agree if they said it before he came over here, but they wanted to get it done. It was painful to see how matted it had become. 

They ran their fingers down a tuft of it. They tried getting a better look and feel for the condition, but the straps of his hockey mask prevented any thorough inspection, let alone manipulation. 

“Um.. need you to.. take off mask.” 

Jason did not sign anything, or nod or move whatsoever. Aspen didn’t know if that was a ‘no’ or if he was considering it. It was not anything they hadn’t seen before, but in actuality, Aspen’s presence was only half of the reason he didn’t want to take it off. He didn’t even like doing it in solitude. He would prefer the mask be his image, both to others and to himself. 

“Please.” 

But after all, it was impossible to wear it forever. Sometimes it had to happen. He ducked his head slightly, unfastening the straps and slowly removing it, setting it down on his lap. Aspen heard him exhale when he finished. They were still behind him, unable to see his face-- but again, it’s not like they needed to. They knew what he looked like, and they also knew how much he hated his own appearance. So they stayed where they were, not finding some way to look at him, and not trying to make him any more uncomfortable than he already was. 

Starting from the tips, Aspen gently began working through the knots, running the tangled parts either through their fingers, or pulling them apart with the tines of their scissors. The birds which were active this morning were now conspicuously quiet as a few light raindrops fell, softly pitter-pattering against the crumpled, dead leaves that covered the forest floor. Slowly but steadily, the rain picked up until the sound of the droplets caused continuous heavy thumps on the veranda above them. For some time, he just listened to the rain while enduring the pulling of his hair as his friend tried, probably in vain, to fix it. He began to hear Aspen inhale deeply behind him, only barely audible. Like they were repeatedly about to speak, but needed to gather the courage. 

“About.. your question,” when Aspen got it out, it was exasperated and almost instantly regretful. They felt Jason’s shoulders tense: so apparently, that conversation had been bothering him as well. Now having confirmed that, Aspen only became more nervous to phrase it correctly, and to really say exactly what they meant. They just wished they knew what that was. 

“Outside world is funny.. Every-thing is connected,” they just begin to talk about whatever popped into their mind. Maybe it wasn’t a good strategy as far as being careful and purposeful with their words, but at the moment, they had no other plan. 

“They call it ‘division of labor.’ Every-one has their own special job. Just one thing, one thing they are supposed to be very good at. So, most outsiders can-not bake bread or hunt animals or mend clothes.. They depend on the person whose ‘job’ it is to do that, and only that. They do it for them.” It was a very foreign concept to both of them, who had only themselves. If they wanted anything at all, it could only be gotten through themselves. Thus, they needed to have numerous small skills, rather than one specific task which they perfected. 

“So.. no-body is.. independent. Every-one relies on each other. But..” Aspen tried to piece together both the words and the ideas. There was an issue with the outside world, but they didn’t know why they had the issue. They didn’t know how to convey it properly, accurate to how that world actually is. They realize that the description they have given Jason, while technically true, paints a much more cooperative picture than is actually the case. 

“Every-one is.. pitted against each-other. Forced to fight, um.. ‘compete.’ So it is a hostile world.. Unforgiving and untrusting. Every-one is together, but.. everyone is alone.” Aspen nods, presumably at themself, as Jason cannot see them anyway. The blindness is mutual-- with Aspen behind him, messing with his hair with his mask off, he probably will not turn to them. So Aspen cannot see his face to gauge his emotions, nor can he sign anything to them. They realize that this effectively puts them into the same situation as before, in which they will not get an appropriate answer-- or any answer, for that matter-- but they feel reasonably satisfied with what they said. 

On its face, Aspen’s words were little more than another story, a personal experience of their time on the outside. That is, it appears to have nothing to do with either Camp Crystal Lake or Jason. But both of them were aware of an unspoken truth: that Aspen’s presence was motivated by their belief that they could not exist anywhere else. Therefore, living at Camp Crystal Lake was a necessity more than a choice. In some ways, it still was, and their words weren’t exactly full of praise for Crystal Lake simply by virtue of disliking the outside. The message was: “I would be alone either way.” As such, it was a rather negative, despondent sort of choice to make. But regardless, Aspen chose to return to the campsite. 

It did help to clear up some things to Jason, but he was still not entirely sure how he felt about it. He was glad that Aspen chose to return to the campsite over staying on the outside. But he did worry that it was a choice made at least partially against their will, as both of them knew Aspen risked infecting others any time they interacted with another human. For the moment, though, he didn’t want to press it. He wasn’t sure what he’d even say. 

“Okay. All done.” at first Jason thought they meant they were done talking. They usually didn’t announce when they were done speaking, but he wouldn’t put it past them. 

“Pup?” But clearly they were expecting some kind of response. He realized he hadn’t felt any tugging in the back of his head for a few moments. Bringing his hands up, he ran his fingers along the sides of his head. It definitely felt a lot lighter. It was no longer knotted or matted, but it did still feel a little crispy. 

“Had to cut a lot out..” many spots they’d simply deemed as unsalvageable, and cut away. It was now terribly uneven, with spots cropped very short, and other strands reaching his neck. Not that he cared very much, and somehow Aspen thought the patchy asymmetry suited him in a strange way. After a quick feel of his haircut, he was relieved to put his mask back on, fastening the straps as he turned to his friend. They smile a bit vaguely, sweeping up the tangled bits of red hair that they’d chopped off. It would go into the compost. 

“Feel better?” Aspen moved to his side and offered a hand to the side of his face. He looked at it for a few brief moments before leaning into it. They scratched the back of his head and behind his ear, his eyes closing as he enjoyed one of the few types of physical affection he permitted. 

“Good boy,” Aspen could not suppress their smile, admiring his supposed innocence. When he waited to lean into their hand, they had been a bit worried he would reject it. But they were relieved to know that some things never change.

Never.. 

Aspen hoped it would rain for a long while. Keep out any unwelcome visitors. 

They sat like that, side by side, watching the droplets fall against the dead leaves, listening to the calming song of the stormy forest. 

***

May happened to be a rather rainy month this year, and if any visitors had planned an early visit to the campsite, Aspen figured they were dissuaded by the frequent showers. They reckoned they’d been back to Crystal Lake for at least a couple of weeks, and still no visitors. Jason didn’t particularly care either way: it was easier for people to just stay out, although he did perhaps feel miffed from putting so much work into trap-setting and hiding weapons throughout the camp that it now felt it’d gone to waste. Today, however, was the second day in a row of sunshine, and when the rainy spell had cleared, it left a dry heat behind. 

Aspen had put off planting their crops since they’d arrived, and they were now realizing how silly that had been after all of the rain. Even so, better late than never. They’d gone to bed early the night before in hope that the sun would last, and sure enough, early this morning it was rising with particular vibrancy, gentle rays shining through the canopy. They wanted to plant close to the house, but not to crowd the space: they practically had the entire forest, after all. So they planted some 20 yards to the left of the house, taking particular care to adequately space the individual plants. Most would be potato plants, as they were the least finicky of their crops, would last a while in proper storage, and had a wide variety of preparation methods. Four secondary crops were additionally planted: pumpkins, beets, cabbage, and sweet corn. They purposefully chose foods which would keep well, given their lack of refrigeration. Anyway, until winter, they would be able to forage for mushrooms and herbs if they so pleased. When the compost was applied, the seeds were added directly into it-- much easier than tilling, and probably faster, too. 

They would not be ready for harvesting for some months, but that was okay. They always had a few basics on hand inside the house: rice, flour, sugar, cornmeal. Bread, rice, and cornmeal cakes composed the majority of Aspen’s diet since moving here at nine years old, perhaps explaining why they never grew taller than five feet. In addition, Aspen had brought oil, salt, yeast, dried fruits and tallow with them. They had salted and dried the opposum that Jason caught, and now had everything needed to make pemmican.. although it somehow felt wrong to eat pemmican before winter. Maybe it was questionable how ‘right’ eating pemmican could ever feel. 

Obviously, there was neither gas nor electricity at their home, so it was not possible to use the defunct stove in the kitchen. Still, a firepit was formed outside, not far from where Jason chopped wood, and Aspen could cook food there. It’s not like they ever made anything so complicated that this setup was insufficient. Over the past few years, they became enamored with cooking shows. The processes to simply make food could be so precise, time-consuming, and required so many different implements.. it was completely foreign to them. Shouldn’t food just be edible? If it will not poison you, and you can get it down, then surely that is enough. Aspen thought it foolish to make your food too tasty. If you did, you would finish your rations ahead of schedule. 

In any case, they felt they’d made adequate preparations so far. Jason didn’t usually eat, so they didn’t have to worry about his contribution. That said, they did keep around the sugar almost exclusively for making him candy. Aspen wasn’t very good at it, but that didn’t matter too much to him-- they’d once witnessed him drink sugar mixed with lake water. He was not exactly an epicurean. 

It was a strange feeling to have so much, and yet so little. There were many things that Aspen felt they ‘needed’ in the outside world: it was practically impossible to do anything without a phone, and even then, many of Ms. Stewart’s relatives and guests were astonished that they only had a flip-phone! The smartphones just looked too complicated. Now they didn’t have any type of communication device. They had worried they would not fare well without air conditioning, electricity, or plumbing, but they found themself to be doing fine, in spite of their lack of conveniences. Yes, as long as Aspen had food to eat and place to lie down at night, they were satisfied. Granted, they would not mind a more comfortable sleeping place, but that was beside the point. 

In anything, they were a little uncomfortable with how much time they had alone with their thoughts. They had kept so distracted over the last four years however they could. There was no shortage of direct stimulation through music and TV. Eventually Aspen’s restlessness became so unbearable that they needed to sleep with the TV on, lest they be kept awake by their incessant thoughts. Now they had none of it. It probably wasn’t healthy to keep yourself from your own thoughts, but it was easier that way. And now it was always there, relentlessly gnawing on their brain stem. They didn’t know what they wanted, or how they felt, or what the future would bring. It wouldn’t be so bad if they could actually try to fix it, or even sit down and organize it, but they didn’t even know where to start. It all just bundled together in a hellish mass of worry and negativity, pushing against their skull. 

They could do nothing but try to stay busy. 


	5. Chapter 5

For most of the years Aspen lived at Camp Crystal Lake, they did actually have a mattress. It was not until some fucko found his way into the tunnels and Jason chased him there did it get destroyed. The blankets and fabric that were haphazardly tossed onto the bedframe were meant to be a temporary solution to the issue, but here they still were. Jason probably never got around to it in part because he had other things to do, and because he didn’t sleep most nights anyway. Well, Aspen absolutely _did_ have to sleep every night, and after having a proper mattress for so long, they would not suffer through using tattered clothes as a substitute. Really, it was a pretty big bedframe (it needed to be, to fit him, let alone both of them) so there was almost no way they’d be able to drag a properly-fitting mattress all the way there. If it were so easy, they would have done it already. In fact, Aspen was not so sure they’d be able to get any mattress all the way there with how feeble and pathetic they were. But they were going to try. 

They did wish they’d gone about doing it sooner. Upon making it outside, the air was both terribly hot and very humid. It was probably June by now, meaning it was summer. Jason seemed to just be waiting for a group of outsiders to come into his territory. He didn’t seem eager to kill per se, but he did have a job to do, and he was gonna do it damn well. 

They made it to the campsite itself, already sweating under the oppressive heat. One of the cabins was.. er.. “out of order”, to put it more pleasantly. The other three should have adequate supplies, though. 

They chose one of the general barrack cabins. It wasn’t clear whether it was the boys or girls cabin. The decorations were pretty gender-neutral; surprisingly so, in fact, for a children’s area. Not that it mattered which it was. The beds were all single-sized, having been intended only for one kid each. Meaning, they’d probably need at least two of these mattresses for their bedframe. Aspen threw aside the pillows and tore off the blankets, leaving only a striped fitted sheet on it. They nudged it off of the bedframe and then picked it up from various angles, trying to ascertain the best way to carry it. It was not nearly as heavy as Aspen had anticipated, but it was still bulky. The length of the mattress was taller than themself, and the width was longer than their arms. Carrying it all the way back would be a difficult task in and of itself. Carrying two would not be possible. 

Defeated, they let it fall to the floor with a heavy thud. They inspected the cabin for an alternative. It was a little dreary inside from the lack of lighting, but the walls had windows which let in sunlight, so while depressing, it was not impossible to navigate. The majority of the room did not have any significant markers or characteristics. Most of the beds were made, albeit probably by children’s sloppy hands. Some of the nightstands had personal objects still on them, left behind from when the camp was evacuated. A few letters or notes from parents telling their child they would miss them, or to have fun, or encouraging them to make friends. One nightstand had a hamster cage. Aspen was too afraid to look inside of it. 

Approaching the end of the hall, there was a small sitting area lined with bookshelves and a few board games stacked to the side. Presumably a ‘play area’ of sorts, although for older children than that term might imply. There were some ominous blackish stains splashed against the floors and walls of this area, which appeared fairly old. Aspen was very familiar with this type of stain, and had no doubt about where they were from. 

To their knowledge, Jason never killed any children-- that is, obviously prepubescent or early adolescent children. He almost certainly did kill some high school students, but not the type of children who would’ve attended this camp. He didn’t seem to have particular moral qualms about it-- he himself is rather childlike, and his death was caused by childhood bullies. He could not understand the cruelty associated with childhood because he never lived to progress past that stage, to see that people are not the brutal creatures that they may have seemed to a troubled kid. But his mother specifically directed her hatred towards older teenagers and college-aged adults. His killings always had the primary purpose of pleasing her. He didn’t really have a desire to kill on his own accord, so there was no reason to kill a child, if it could be avoided. 

All things considered, a victim probably ran into this cabin to hide. Jason chased them inside, to the end of the building: here. There was no secondary exit, no turns, nowhere to run or hide. Their fate was sealed. 

It sent a shiver down their spine. They almost definitely would’ve been killed by him if they’d been a little bit older when they first came here. 

… 

Looking downward, they notice an unpleasant, tarp-like fabric under one of the beds. Hopeful, they approach and pull at it. It is exactly what they were hoping for: a sleeping bag. No, Aspen would not use it for sleeping, they cared more about the ‘bag’ part. They couldn’t fit a mattress inside, but what about a shitload of pillows? They could just line the bedframe with pillows. Maybe through a blanket over the top. That’s kinda like a mattress, right? 

Not exactly, but it’d have to do. Aspen began moving from bed to bed, stuffing the pillows inside of the bag as tightly as possible. They wanted to take as many as they could. Better too many than too few. By the end, they had eight or nine stuffed inside of the polyester container. Aspen assumed it would be light-- they were just pillows, after all-- but it had some surprising weight. They decided to simply drag it along the ground. It didn’t matter if the bag got dirty or torn, so long as the cushions were safe. They reached the entrance again, accosted by the heat, and.. voices? 

They freeze, shutting their eyes, focusing only on the noises around them. Some tanagers are singing nearby. There was no breeze today. 

“C’mon, I mean, he _was_ a basketball player. He was sooo tall.” 

Yes, Aspen did hear voices. They dropped the sleeping bag and it slid halfway out the door, spilling onto the shaky wooden steps. Where were they? 

“Yeah, but he was going to a school in _ARKANSAS._ You wouldn’t wanna go to Arkansas, would you?” 

Aspen headed to the main path. 

“What’s wrong with Arkansas?” 

“Geez, nothing if you-- _EEP!_ ” 

Aspen nearly ran into a girl’s chest. Thankfully, they stopped just short of that, both parties backing up several steps. 

“Ah! Sorry!” one of the girls exclaimed. In front of Aspen were two white girls, both brunette. One had a perpetually surprised expression and a heavily-flushed face, looking like a bit of a ditz. The other had a kind, mild face, with sparkling but sleepy eyes. Neither of them could have been older than 18 or 19. 

“HELLO.” Aspen tried to calm themself, but it was too forced. Their voice was completely flat. 

“We, um, we’re just looking for a place to set up camp.. Are you staying here?” the sleepy-eyed girl asked. 

“No. Live here.” 

“Oh! You must be.. the owner, then..? 

Yes, these looked like nice girls. Nice, maybe a little airheaded, but sweet, traveling alone, and totally lacking in any obvious defenses. They may as well have had massive targets painted on their backs. 

“Yes.” Aspen lied. “Condemned. You have to leave.” 

“Oh! Uh..” the ditzy girl piped up this time, “I mean.. we don’t have to stay in the cabins or anything. We got a tent.. we just want a place to set it up.” 

“No. Have to go. Now.” 

“What?” The ditzy girl’s gaze shifted between Aspen and her friend. Her friend was glued on something beyond them, her eyes wide and the sparkle gone. “Seriously..?” 

“Louisa,” she tapped her ditzy friend’s thigh. “I think we should leave.” 

The clueless friend sighed. “I really don’t---” 

“No, Louisa,” this time she grabbed her sleeve, eyes frantically shifting between her friend, Aspen, and something in the distance. “I _really_ think we should leave. Like, _right now_.” 

Her friend looked around, clearly still confused, and obviously not wanting to drop this. She only gave another final sigh, “Alright, I guess.” 

Aspen watched as the once-sparkly-eyed girl hurriedly ushered her friend back the way they came. That went over easier than Aspen had been expecting, but it was not exactly as they had anticipated. They turned-- Jason wasn’t around. Was it Aspen themself that they were afraid of, or.. 

Ah. The sleeping bag. 

Yes, from here, it does look like a body was stuffed inside of it. 

Well, the girl almost certainly believed they were a murderer, but that was okay. It was better to be slightly traumatized than dead. Not like the police are gonna come, anyway. 

Aspen, overall pleased with the way that the first visitation went, grabbed the bag by its drawstrings and headed back home. Sure enough, upon reaching the house, Jason was there on the steps. He sat there, machete leaned against him, head resting in his hand, eyes looking spaced-out until he saw Aspen. He watched them approach, dragging the bag behind them, his eyes becoming wide. 

“No. Not a body.” 

Jason’s surprise faded slightly, tilting his head for clarification. 

“Pillows.” 

He blinked a few times. Still needs clarification. 

“For bed. Still don’t have mattress, Pup.” 

Oh. His expression fades to boredom again. Aspen lets out a snort, to which Jason turns to them, but he gets no explanation as they mosey into the house. They found it almost adorable, in an extremely morbid way, that Jason was so put out by Aspen having chased off the first outsiders. He sat on the steps with the same aura as a teenager who had gotten ready to go out, only for his friend to cancel at the last minute. 

In the bedroom, Aspen stepped around the cluttered floor, reaching the bedframe after a series of clumsy hops. They gathered up the pile of fabric that sat on it, setting onto the floor. One by one, they drew the pillows out of the sleeping bag, lining the frame with them. Eight did the trick-- one extra. They took the thickest blanket from the heap, throwing it over the newly-created layer of cushions, attempting to secure them slightly, as well as homogenize the mass. They crawled on top of it, accessing their efforts. 

It was a little overly soft and squishy, but it was still better than the fabric mass. Aspen sank down into it. Not perfect, but better. Jason probably wouldn’t care either way, but that was okay. 

Aspen let their eyes flit shut for a few moments. Not going to fall asleep, of course. They had no intention of napping right now. Just.. resting for a bit. 

It’d been a while since Jason actually slept, anyway. They supposed that not a ton out of the ordinary had happened yet. Those girls came today, but he was denied the opportunity to take them out. He probably wouldn’t sleep today or tonight, either. 

Aspen and Jason shared this bed, although only for convenience’s sake. It was easier than bringing another bedframe inside. When they were a kid, they slept in Jason’s childhood room for a while, until it got to be too disturbing to stay in, after which they started sleeping in the same bed. It wasn’t really a big deal. It’s just sleeping. There’s nothing weird or inherently sexual about it. 

Jason was not fond of being touched in most contexts, and he _especially_ hated being touched in his sleep. Aspen had no idea why. Maybe he had a bad experience while he was sleeping (perhaps at camp?) or maybe he just doesn’t like the vulnerability associated with being unconscious. Either way, Aspen was careful to keep their distance from him, and they slept with the maximum amount of distance between them. 

They didn’t like it, but he was clearly insecure about it, regardless of the reason. They didn’t want to pry, or cross a line that might hurt either of them, but they still couldn’t help but want to be close to him.

… 

They rolled over, bunching up the pillows and blankets, imagining their arm was around him. 

Inevitably, they fell asleep. 

***

Most people are either night owls or early birds, but Jason managed to do both. He didn’t need to sleep very often, but when he did, he typically chose to do so when the diurnal animals were most active, choosing to carry on during the nighttime and early morning hours. For a while, he actually did sleep in about the same frequency as a normal human, simply choosing a different time to do so. Not because it was necessary. It just.. made him feel like a human again. Like he was actually alive, and not some kind of undead monster. Simple things like waking up, getting scraped or cut, or becoming fatigued were all normal occurrences to human beings, so commonplace they are scarcely contemplated in any great detail, at worst, they were potentially annoyances. To Jason, it provided a just a modicum of normalcy to his life (or death) which had never felt quite ‘normal.’ 

But eventually, he stopped sleeping, except when absolutely necessary. It’s not like he had a conscious decision not to do it, he just gradually stopped. Maybe it was because he felt that his time would be better spent, or perhaps it became impossible to grant any sense of being normal after experiencing all that he has. He never fully came to terms with who or what he is, or the strange ways that his body operated. Most of the time, he wished he didn’t have a body, and especially not this one. But dying didn’t seem to be an option, at least not any time soon. 

So here he was, on the pier over the lake, simply watching the sunrise. It would probably be another sunny day, indicated by the pale bluish sky directly overhead, gently strewn with wispy white clouds. Moving east, the sky faded into pastel yellow, which radiated outward in scattered rays from the orange mass just under the horizon line. The warm light turned the murky lake water to honey. Jason looked into it, feeling vaguely nauseous, imagining the horror of drowning in honey. Honey, filling his lungs, in his nose, the pressure crushing his ribcage. 

“Puppy!” 

His honeyed nightmare was interrupted by the nasally voice of his companion just at the start of the dock. They were not nearly so surprised to see him as he was to see them. Aspen was never up so early. They looked as if they’d been awake for a while: wearing a linen romper, their skin dotted with sweat. They began removing their oxfords, cautiously glancing up in Jason’s general direction. 

“Um.. was going to take bath, if that’s okay..” they produced a small box from their pocket-- presumably containing bar soap. Again? Didn’t they just take a bath yesterday? They certainly had. Aspen had gotten used to doing it everyday, and that was when they were mostly working inside and had access to clean, hot running water. Now they were getting much dirtier from working outside, and had only the lake to bathe in. Its effectiveness was somewhat questionable. 

Jason nodded, also a little warily. He moved to leave, having not been doing anything particularly important here anyway. 

“Ah! Pup can stay. Is okay,” Aspen reassured him. Honestly, he didn’t really want to stay, but now he was worried they might be made self-conscious if he left. There wasn’t a reason he _had_ to leave. They lived together, so their nudity wasn’t anything he hadn’t already seen before. And it’s not like it was sexual. He just.. preferred not to see it. Not wanting to leer at them, he just turned his head forward to the sun as Aspen removed their romper, doing his best to pretend like he wasn’t particularly bothered by it. 

Not that it mattered, because Aspen walked to the end of the pier anyway, choosing to jump off there. So of course, his eyes inadvertently found their back, moving from the gentle slope of their spine to the curves of their hips. Their hips were wide enough to cause the tiniest of gaps in between the very tops of their thighs, where sunlight shined through. In the very same moment that Jason noticed it, they glanced back at him. He met their eyes and was unable to break their mutual gaze, like a child who had been caught red-handed. They maintained eye contact for a moment before turning away, jumping into the lake. He’s too disturbed to even notice the water splashed on him, let alone care about it. 

Why did they do that? He could understand if they’d been self-conscious about being visible to him, but they didn’t try to hide themself or anything. And they held the gaze for way too long for comfort. It was too long to have simply been an awkward accident. It’s like they wanted him to know that they saw him looking. Was he in trouble, then? Were they mad at him now? 

He brought his knees closer to his chest, fidgeting. He occasionally glanced up at Aspen, who was in the water, but only incredibly briefly, to see if they were looking at him. They were not, but he didn’t know if that was better or worse. He only felt worse, not knowing what to think. 

When finished, Aspen emerged on the shore, but needed to come back to the dock for their clothes. Jason focused only on the soft tapping of their bare feet against the boards. Surely they’d put their shoes on last. So once he heard the clink of the oxford heels on it, he turned to them, immediately meeting their eye again. It seemed they were watching him the whole time they were dressing, although he had no way to know for sure. This time he broke contact right away, already uncomfortable with eye contact generally, and certainly too perturbed to maintain it right now. 

Aware that Aspen is looking at him, he turns so that they can see him signing. He brings both hands to his midsection, all fingers extended, and then swoops them up and outwards, in opposite directions. **MAD?**

For a second, Aspen looked incredibly confused, but the expression quickly fades into.. something else. Jason doesn’t know how to describe it. They’re smiling, but something about it looks.. wrong. He doesn’t like it _at all._

Aspen walks forward, until they are right next to him. He is still sitting down, looking vaguely passive, like an anxious dog. He is too nervous to look up at them. 

“No, of course, not mad.” They patted his head, ruffling his hair slightly. 

“Silly boy.” They turned on their heel and headed back to the house. 

Those two words immediately destabilized the undulations of his heart. He became self-conscious, tugging at his clothes nervously as he felt himself getting hard under them. It happened on occasion, usually after ‘sleeping,’ sometimes when seeing the naked bodies of slain victims, and a few times for no discernable reason at all. It didn’t matter, though, as he never acted on those bodily urges. But he was nonetheless disturbed by this sudden occurrence. He’d never had this happen in response to an interaction with somebody. And never with Aspen, either, even though they’d praised him much in the past. Why was it happening now? 

..well, no, it wasn’t really praising. They called him silly, which wasn’t really praise, but it still didn’t explain anything. 

..ugh. He hated this feeling, but it’s not like he could do anything about it. He only sat there, frozen in the same spot as when Aspen had left, thinking about bad things until it went away on its own. 


	6. Chapter 6

Aspen could not help teasing Jason in such a way. They made the mistake of turning around to see him looking at their thighs-- or something around that area. It wasn’t exactly that they were mad, or even uncomfortable, really. They just didn’t really know how to address such a thing, or if it should be addressed at all. Indeed, Aspen was probably more lackadaisical about that sort of thing, whereas Jason seemed to have some kind of complex about it. Most likely from all of the nudity and sexuality he witnessed from his victims. And his earnest inquisitiveness about whether or not they were mad at him was practically unbearable in how endearing it was. Aspen hoped he did not view their reaction as too condescending, lest he become mad at them. 

Upon returning to the kitchen, they decided to try their hand at something new today. They had brought with them to the camp a generously-sized bottle of yeast for bread-making. It was a product that was virtually impossible to scavenge for. Even on the occasion that they broke into a closed convenience store or gas station, they never had the product available, limiting the types of bread that they could make. Up until now, bread was baked with little more than flour and lakewater, or sometimes a bit of salt or oil if they had them on hand. 

The tiny particles were fascinating. They had heard that yeast was actually a fungus, like a mushroom or mold, although they were doubtful of the legitimacy of that claim. It looked like neither, instead resembling some type of miniscule grain or seed. Although, they supposed that mushrooms and molds didn’t resemble each other, and they were nonetheless related. They were aware of the substance’s significance in bread, but apparently it was also present in various other products: alcohol, vinegars, sometimes even preserved meats and cheeses. All things Aspen scarcely ate, but it was intriguing to think about nonetheless. 

They had to be careful not to scald the yeast. They heated the lakewater over the firepit, very gently, until only slightly warm. Upon returning inside the kitchen, they added a spoonful of the supposed fungus. They had no idea how much was enough, but a spoonful seemed like a decent place to start. To their surprise, it began to produce some kind of foam inside the bowl-- was it drowning? Was this too much water? Was it, maybe.. Yeast mixed with water, rather than water mixed with yeast? But that would require an absurd amount of yeast to create a single loaf of bread, which would not make sense for the small container it came in. In their frantic contemplation, they began to smell something nearly intoxicating. It was not unlike bread, but better, and with the sharply acidic undertone of fermentation. Even if this was wrong, it smelled delicious, so Aspen would press forward. 

They alternated between adding flour and mixing with their hands until the dough became soft and smooth, but not tacky. They threw in a little salt and oil, just for the hell of it. They did a final coating of flour on the outside. Now.. they had to wait. Wait for it to rise. Rise how much? How big was it supposed to get? Noticeably bigger? How long would that take? Did it happen on its own, or.. Would kneading it make it go faster? This was so complicated! 

Their contemplation was broken by the sound of heavy, steel-toe boots stomping up the porch. They turned away from their experiment, slowly plodding towards the front door, poking their head into the hallway. 

“Puppy?.. Ah--” 

Yes, it was Jason, although he was not exactly alone. 

Fresh blood was splattered against his mask and stained almost an entire half of his coat. Aspen’s eyes reflexively drifted downwards to the source of the blood. Clutched between his fingers was the long black hair of a woman. She herself was nearly drenched in her own blood, no doubt from a gaping wound in her abdomen. He had caught her with the machete, beginning to slice just below her ribcage. It curved upwards with the first rib, meeting the midline of her body. He then moved the blade upwards, tearing through her spine and sternum, nearly severing her body into two pieces. It was a gruesome sight, even for Aspen, who had seen some of the most vicious slayings their friend had committed. As agonizing as it was to experience, they at least thought the woman did not suffer through it for very long. 

Jason stopped only momentarily upon seeing Aspen. His pupils, still fully dilated, assessed Aspen’s condition before turning away, expressionless, as he continued through the house. The woman dragged behind him as he climbed up the stairs, a horrible thumping noise produced as the body was yanked up each step. He was certainly going to his mother’s shrine, to offer his kill to her. 

Aspen just watched him, their hands and clothes coated in flour. 

***

After he left the woman's body at Pamela's shrine, he was gone for the remainder of the day and night. Aspen went to bed that night alone, honestly slightly glad that he had not returned. Upon waking, he was still absent, and they did not run into him in the tunnels or in the house, nor while doing their daily chores. They opted out of bathing for the day, afraid of what they might find at the campsite. Once the adrenaline of making a kill is worn off, Jason usually has to sleep for a little bit. If he hadn't come back, it was probably because he was still chasing the adrenaline-- that is, there were more people to kill. That was probably a given: outsiders usually didn't come alone, and almost never did a woman come alone. Aspen wondered how many there were, and why they were here. The woman looked older than most of their typical trespassers, although still relatively young. She was perhaps in her early 30s. Aspen shuddered at the thought that a family might have stopped here, oblivious as to where they were. 

Not that there was any use speculating. Aspen settled in for the night, assuming that he would be absent again. To their surprise, he showed up not long after Aspen had started preparing for bed. He stumbled into the bedroom, not obviously injured, but looking very fatigued. The blood had been washed from his mask at some point, and his coat had been removed. The remainder of his clothes had some dried bloodstains, but only a few smatterings of wet blood. 

"Hey, Pup." 

Aspen retrieved a book that was next to the bed, setting it on their lap as he approached. They offered a hand, which he nuzzled gently, his exhaustion tangible in his movements. 

"Keep reading?" 

He nodded, drawing away and settling into his side of the bed. They would continue the practice that they'd established before the trespassers had so rudely interrupted their regular ritual. 

Jason had never been much a fan of reading. As a child he associated with schoolwork, and generally didn’t read for pleasure. After his first death and subsequent resurrection, he didn’t want to read, although for different reasons. 

Literature, like any other form of art, was an expression of one’s personhood. Even if a book had nothing to do with its author, it was still their product, and could not be entirely separated from them. The subject, the ideas within, the word choice and sentence structure, they were all the direct result of the author’s identity and experiences. They were, in essence, a piece of the author themself, which had the potential to live long after the writer was dead and gone. Art, in this way, is the closest thing to the immortal soul which humans have ever been able to prove exists. 

And maybe this idea was a bit too personal for Jason. Although in his childhood free time he scarcely read or almost never wrote, he did make art. Drawing, painting, and the like, although his artwork lacked all of the innocence one might expect from a child. When Aspen was about Jason’s age at death, they still slept in his childhood room, until they found his old sketchbook. It was filled with drawings of mostly people and animals, and were really quite skillful for his young age; except, they all shared a peculiar and disturbing trait. The faces were always scratched and scribbled out, the aggression apparent from the resulting impressions in the paper. Later drawings sometimes featured himself, always with the same expression: a large, scribbly circle for the left eye, and a half-circle for the right; a tilted right angle for a mouth, and tears running down either side of his face. Most of his self-portraits also depicted violence towards himself, sometimes self-inflicted, sometimes enacted by another figure, but usually from some unspecified and unclear entity. 

Perhaps, then, if art is the immortal fragment of a person’s being, he made the worst parts of his life everlasting by depicting them on paper. It might explain why, despite his own death, he was unable to bury the trauma accrued during his very short life. It may have also been prophetic that he depicted so much violence towards himself, now having suffered through nearly every type of injury imaginable. 

Still.. Aspen would sometimes bring books back home. Their own collection was composed of mostly old and very esoteric texts: books with titles like _The Philosophy of Theism, Opuscula Magica,_ or _Liber Falxifer_. Jason did not know what any of the words in the titles meant, so he didn’t even try to read the insides. The books in the less personal collection were generally old, although not as esoteric in nature. Reading those directly was still a little much for him, but on occasion, he didn’t mind listening to Aspen read them. 

When they asked him to pick a book, he brought them a particularly old copy. The inside page had a past owner’s name, written in elegant, thin cursive, and the year ‘1911.’ Indeed, the book did show its age: the binding had broken some time ago, and the pages threatened to separate from it at any moment. The paper’s edges were slightly jagged and tattered, although it was unknown if this was an original feature. And of course, the pages had developed a light tannin hue, accompanied by the scent of oak tinged with toasted sugar. 

Despite its damage and age, it was maybe the most beautiful book they’d ever seen. The bulk of the cover was a minty moss green, but the background of the front’s illustration was depressed, and filled with a thin layer of gold paint. The picture itself was a simple etching of an oak forest, with a border of leaves and acorns. The inner pages did not disappoint either: although the already small book had only about a paragraph per page, the remainder of the paper was of floral and naturalistic depictions of a forest, bordering the words, to give the impression not only that the book itself was artwork, but that each page was itself a small masterpiece. 

Aspen had no doubt that Jason chose this book because of its cover. But that was okay. They probably would have chosen it as well. So on the nights when Jason was present, they sat together on the bed, still as far apart as they could possibly be, and Aspen read the work aloud. 

_“We were astonished and delighted when we suddenly discovered that we were within the boundaries of the Forest long before we had begun to think of the end of our journey. We had said nothing to each other by the way; our thoughts were so busy that we had no time for speech. There were no other travellers; everybody seemed to be going in the opposite direction; and we were left to undisturbed meditation. The route to the Forest is one of those open secrets which whosoever would know must learn for himself; it is impossible to direct those who not discover for themselves how to make the journey. The Forest is probably the most accessible place on the face of the earth, but it is so rarely visited that one may go half a lifetime without meeting a person who had been there. I have never been able to explain the fact that those who have spent some time in the Forest, as well as those who are later to see it, seem to recognize each other by instinct…”_

Jason tapped his finger twice against the bedframe. 

“Which word? ‘Instinct?’” 

He nodded. 

They were a little surprised he’d never heard the word, considering it was something Jason certainly had no dearth of in his occupation. Although didn’t know in what context he would have heard it. They kept a dictionary next to them, ready to look up anything either of them didn’t know. 

“Instinct: a natural impulse..” This was the shortest and simplest of the definitions. Jason looks like he is considering what such a thing might be. Of course, the easiest example would be, ‘your urge to kill outsiders,’ but Aspen forced the thought out. They didn’t want to think about that right now, let alone speek of it. 

“Um.. uh.. like.. when rabbit knows.. to run from predator.” It was basically the same concept reworded. In any case, Jason looked like he understood, so Aspen continued on. 

_“...The world still loves darkness more than light; but it rarely nowadays falls upon the lantern-bearer to beat the life out of him, as in “the good old times.” The world has grown more decent and polite, although still at heart no doubt the bad old world which stoned the prophets. It sneers where it once stoned; it rejects and scorns where it once beat and burned. And so Arden has become a refuge, not so much from persecution and hatred as from ignorance, indifference, and the small wounds of small minds bent upon stinging that which they cannot destroy.”_

“.. end of chapter.” Aspen closed the book. “More tomorrow, if home.” 

Jason only nods, a bit half-heartedly, without looking at them. Aspen cannot read his eye’s expression very well. He could have been tired, or despondent, or pensive. Maybe all of the above. Maybe he had been struck by the last paragraph. It certainly was making Aspen feel some sort of way. They were always different from others, not in either a virtuous or purposefully non-conformist sense. From a young age, they had always interacted with others in a more disjointed fashion, and caught onto the rules of socialization much later-- actually, Aspen was not so certain that they even fully understand those rules today. Making friends was hard, because they could not follow the rituals of conversation, they never knew quite what to say, or why some of their words were interpreted as rude. For these things, they were never really ‘bullied’ by other children, nor were they hit or anything of the sort. It was just the little things that really reinforced their belief that they were different, and not in a good way. The pitying smiles of adults, snickers and whispering of other kids.

But it probably hit different for Jason, didn’t it? He didn’t live in a world where people were simply laughed at or rejected for their dissimilarities. He was _literally killed_ for his unwilling nonconformity. As far as he was concerned, the world was very much still a place of hatred and cruelty, where the objects of such are made to suffer through the worst punishments imaginable, all for something which he never chose. And Jason could not have the luxury of hiding his differences even if he wanted to: they were visible from the first sight of him. He could immediately become the target of persecution if the subject wished it so, because he could not separate himself from the body he was born with. 

But, regardless of their contrasting perceptions of the author’s sentiments, the idea of the final sentence did appeal to both of them. This place was originally where Jason was killed for the crime of being born ‘wrong.’ But now, it was perhaps the only place in the world where both of them felt entirely safe, and he was determined to keep it so. It was bittersweet to Aspen, then, that the sanctity of their refuge could only be maintained through Jason’s ruthless execution of anyone who dare trespass, even unknowingly. 

“Pup.” Aspen moved a little closer to him. “Sleep here tonight? Please?” 

Jason nods after only a moment. 

“Um.. would you..” Aspen was not sure how to word it. “Would you prefer ‘Puppy’ or ‘Jason?’” 

He was a little thrown off by this question. Aspen had never asked him before. They’d always called him ‘Puppy.’ It was the name they’d chosen for him before they even learned his actual name. It was a nickname on the surface, but.. Aspen had begun to believe that perhaps the use of that name had started to serve the additional purpose of obscuring who he actually was. He was not a dog, no matter how much his behaviors reminded them of one. Nor was he a separate entity or personality from the mass murderer known as ‘Jason Voorhees.’ He _was_ Jason Voorhees. 

He thought about it. At first, he thought he didn’t really care either way. But he wasn’t sure that was actually true. 

After a few moments, he glanced towards them and.. threw a peace sign? 

Oh, ‘two.’ 

“..Jason, then?”

He nodded. 

Aspen nodded back. “Okay.. Jason..” The name felt a little foreign coming out of their mouth, despite having heard it by outsiders many times before. In a strange sense, though, it was a little relieving to finally accept it. 

“Um.. ready for sleep now?” 

He nodded again. He did look uncharacteristically tired right now. 

Aspen cozied up on their side, covering themself with only a thin sheet from the bundle of scrap fabrics. Jason always used much more, presumably because of his body’s constant lack of heat. Staring at his back, he could not have been more than two feet away, but the distance felt almost insurmountable. They thought about the other day, when they fell asleep thinking of holding him. They still wanted to. Who else could they be close to, if not him? 

“..Jason?” 

He looked over his shoulder. He wasn’t looking directly at them, but just seeing his face-- or rather, the mask which had become practically synonymous with ‘his face’-- was enough to scare them from asking. 

“I, um..” 

…

“Really glad I’m here with you.” 

Jason nodded, his eyes flitting shut momentarily. To Aspen’s surprise, he turned around, facing them. He never, _ever_ let them face each other while sleeping. Maybe it was too similar to eye contact, or it was related to his general discomfort of unconscious contact, or maybe it was just too intimate. Regardless, it seemed he was now allowing it, at least for now. It was not what Aspen had intended to ask for, but even this simple gesture felt like it was almost too much. His hand was rested just in front of his ‘face,’ and Aspen considered going for it. But they did not. That would probably push them both over the edge. This was more than enough for tonight. So instead, they tightly gripped the sheets between their little fingers, gazing gently at him as they fell asleep. 


	7. Chapter 7

Upon waking the next morning, Aspen decided to get the most unpleasant activities of the day out of the way. To Pamela’s shrine they went. 

There, in the bathtub in front of her severed head, barely illuminated by the dull candlelight, were the bodies of Jason’s most recent victims. At the very bottom was the woman who Aspen saw the other day. She was already starting to rot, flies drawn to the sweet stench of iron-rich blood. Her already-pale skin had turned frighteningly white, and her eyes devoid of any light. Stacked on top of her body were two other corpses, a boy and a girl. They looked younger than the woman herself, probably in their mid- to late-teens. The girl had been decapitated, her own head now nestled on her stomach, in between her arms. The boy’s body had been sliced in two, at the waist. His hands appeared to be gone as well, but they didn’t seem to have been brought here. 

Despite their youth, Aspen didn’t think these teenagers were the woman’s own children. The woman appeared to be East Asian, whereas the two teens were both blonde and white. The woman also didn’t appear old enough to have two teenage kids, unless she had a little too much fun in high school. Either way, it materially made little difference whether or not the victims were a family, but it made them feel a little better to think that they weren’t, for some reason. 

“Hi, Pamela.” 

…

“Gonna check pockets, okay?” 

As usual, no response from the dead woman. Aspen didn’t know why they bothered, but it at least seemed polite, to Jason if nobody else. 

They checked each of the bodies’ clothes pockets, fishing out each of their wallets. There was only a little under $15 in cash between all of them. It would go into the piggy bank, along with the funds that they’d saved up while working. Nowadays, it didn’t seem like people carried very much in cash, opting for plastic cards which Aspen had no use for. They discovered within the past few years that they were called “credit cards,” and you used them to spend money you didn’t actually have, promising to pay it back plus extra. This was called “debt.” Everyone was in debt, it seemed, and the plastic cards were just one of many ways to get in it. Most people had to acquire debts just to have a home, or a car, or to go to school. Then, they would work, not for themselves, but for their creditors. Aspen found it horrifying that you would need to work, sometimes your entire life, for something so simple and essential as a shelter. Worse than that, most of them view it as normal, or even justified. Of those that don’t, most claim there is simply no alternative. 

But it was not important. After stowing away the meager spoils of Jason’s kills, they had to do the second day’s uncomfortable task: cleaning the blood from the house. There was even more than they’d originally thought, presumably because Jason brought in the other two bodies last night. Now, the stairs and hallway were coated with a thin crust of semi-dried blood leading outside. Aspen was too afraid to use any abrasive cleaners on the wood flooring, on the off-chance that it might damage Jason’s precious childhood home. So instead, they collected wet sand from the lake in preparation for cleaning. They spread the sand over the bloodstains, and scrubbed away at the dried pools with a rag, scraping off the fluids without doing any damage worse than the floor had already endured so far. It was a tedious task, given they had to clean each step on the staircase, as well as the entire hallway and parts of the porch, but better to do it now than later. 

It was not yet afternoon by the time Aspen had finished the day’s dirty work. They’d made good time, and figured they probably should continue with the chores and tasks, although decided they would instead do something more lighthearted after enduring such gruesome business. They fetched a mesh bag from the kitchen and headed to the lake. 

They thought June was nearing its end by now. The heat had only intensified with each passing day, and the humidity was persistent. It had become sticky as summertime came into full fruition, and it was not even the hottest months yet. 

There, in the unkempt fields which bordered the lake and surrounded the abandoned cabins, wild plants grew in the absence of human interference. Aspen loved the thrill of finding some edible plant, tucked away under the shade of a sugar maple, or hiding its fruits inside the tall grasses. Wild purslane was a common and easily recognizable find in the dirt patches around the buildings. By far the most common, however-- and one Aspen’s favorites, was the modest dandelion, whose bitter leaves could be cooked and eaten, while its flowers steeped to make a fine floral tea. It did not take long for the small mesh bag to fill with dandelions. It was not exactly the most exciting of foraging trips, but it was productive, and did not take long whatsoever. 

The sun showed no sign of descending any time soon. Aspen sat in the tall grass, setting their bag off to the side. From here, they had a view of the lake, stagnant and muddy, but itself charming in all of its dirty ugliness. The songs of the forest birds were not so loud here as at the house, but were pretty nonetheless, in a more subdued fashion. The tweets and notes differed to a certain degree, as different birds preferred to be closer to the water, or in less wooded areas. 

They laid back, gaze moving from the lake to the sky above. They knew that they could stay here for as long as they liked. They had no particular schedule for which to adhere to, nor did they have neighbors who would bother their relaxation. Their only neighbors were the forest animals, the trees and vegetation, and the spirits that inhabited the campsite. Even if this place got lonely sometimes, they thought it was probably better to have these less intrusive companions. 

They did not keep track of how long they stayed there, but it must have been a long time that they just enjoyed the company of the camp, as the sun gradually began to dim, casting shadows across the terrain. Before long, the choir of crickets replaced the birds, and the sky began to take on a navy hue. It seemed that they’d spent a good part of the day, if not most of it, simply laying here, enjoying themself in nature. Truly, aside from the dandelions and the blood-cleaning, very little work was actually done today, but Aspen was okay with that. The day was enjoyed, so it was not wasted. Their eyes shut, considering if they should just sleep here for the night, before they felt eyes on them. Sure enough, opening their own, they met the gaze of Jason, who stood above them. It was amazing how such a large man could approach so quietly. 

“Pup-- er, uh, Jason,” Aspen opened up their arms. Jason ignored the meaning of the gesture, instead going for one of their hands to help them up. Aspen pulled their arms back, well aware that he’d be able to get them to their feet with the most minimal effort. 

“No. Sit. Lay down.” 

He looked around. There wasn’t any real reason why he couldn’t. He had seen them laying here quite some time ago, and figured they’d want to leave by now, but apparently that was not the case. So he did sit down, eventually laying back, a couple of feet away from his friend. The sky was now its darkest shade of navy, save for the very lowest layer of horizon, which maintained a tannin hue, accented by thin layers of clouds. Right above them was the soft glow of the milky way, innumerable stars dotting their periphery. 

Fireflies flew above them, flashing their lights as they floated past. Jason watched one as it gently darted around his vision, occasionally showing off its greenish-yellow glimmer. The sight reminded him of being a child. There were a lot of kids who would smack the bugs when they lit up, and would smear the guts on their arms, making them glow. He always thought it was gross and cruel. He didn’t know why he had to think of these things, even now. He gently shooed away the bug, turning his attention back to the stars. 

“See that one?” Aspen moved closer, trying to get Jason’s view, pointing to a particularly bright and warmly-colored star. 

“Beetle juice.” 

A strange name for a star, he thought. Aspen’s finger then moved down and rightward, to a diagonal line of more bright stars. 

“Those three.” they pointed out a few more, some of which were very bright and clearly visible, others which seemed to fade into the background of the greater collection of the night sky. 

“The constellation.. ‘Orion.’” 

He tilted his head, trying to form the image, but could not imagine it very well. It was a common occurrence whenever they looked at the stars: Jason always thought you had to really stretch your imagination when trying to get any sort of discernible object from most of them. 

“Orion was a hunter. A giant hunter,” their head shifted from the sky to him, staring at the side of his mask. He kept facing upwards, but he could feel them looking at him. 

“He was killed.. and the gods immortalized him... by putting him in the stars.” 

In the stars, huh? That wasn’t a bad place to be immortalized, he thought. It felt much more spiritual or conceptual than the reality that he had to live. Although he wasn’t exactly sure what that’d entail. What was he doing up there? Hunting other constellations? Is he each individual star, or is the constellation just a representation of some other realm which he inhabits? A lot of questions, which he would probably never get an answer to. 

Aspen still watched him. His gaze stayed on the sky, although it darted about every now and again. They wished that he could tell them what he was thinking about, as they imagined the story would elicit at least a few thoughts. But they knew better than to long for that. He could not speak, so they would not try to make him. 

They realized that they’d moved very close to him, so they could point out the stars. He probably hadn’t even realized how close they were. 

Between them was his left arm, palm facing upwards. Aspen thought about the other night, when they slept facing each other. They’d wanted to take his hand, thinking of how lovely it would be to fall asleep that way. But they didn’t. Now it was happening again: his hand was right there, practically begging to be taken. They knew, though, that they couldn’t just go straight for it. That’d freak him out. Even doing it slowly might freak him out. 

But they resolved that they would definitely make a move. They were gonna do it. They absolutely, positively, were gonna do it. When they told themself that, readying to move their own arm, they felt their chest tighten, a sharp pain radiating from their heart. It felt physically impossible to do. So they waited, calmed down and did it again: told themself they’d do it, only for their body to reject it completely. It was frustrating to have to battle themself just to do something so simple, but they could not go back on their word. It had to happen. 

So their arm inched over at a snail’s pace, finding its way mere centimeters away from his. They’d hoped that he’d close the gap himself upon realizing their hands were so close, but that did not happen. In fact, he still seemed oblivious to the fact that they were so close, still lost in whatever unknowable thoughts he was having. So Aspen moved only their pinky to his open palm, resting it on the pad of his thumb. 

Without looking, he brought his other hand over, thinking a bug of some sort had crawled onto him. It was only upon gripping it with his other hand that he realized that this was no bug. Sure enough, he finally shifts his gaze to his left hand to see Aspen’s pinky resting on it. Their face was turned to him, and although they were silent, they most likely had not done this by accident, else they would have moved by now. He felt the blood rush from his face as panic set in, completely at a loss of what to do in this situation. 

They’d held hands before, but again, it was not so much the action itself which mattered, but rather the context in which it occurred. Similarly to undressing in front of each other or sharing a bed, hand-holding might be permitted in the right circumstances; that is, if it had no romantic or sexual intent, but rather served some practical purpose. Specifically, Jason held Aspen’s hand on a few occasions when guiding them through unfamiliar areas, as he had the entire forest’s layout damn-near memorized. It was always innocent, and ‘mitten-handed’-- that is, palm-to-palm. Actually, before that, Jason just grabbed Aspen’s wrist and practically dragged them, but they requested he not be so aggressive, and so he compromised. 

But this had no obvious utility to it. It was just holding hands for the sake of holding hands. What did that mean? Was this a display of friendship, or something else? His heartbeat began racing as the potential meanings behind such an action flooded his brain. He did not mind platonic displays, but did they have to be so.. intimate? He did not like to be reminded that he had a body which could be, not only perceived, but actually touched and felt. He did not want to face the risks that physical contact would inevitably entail, even in seemingly ‘innocent’ forms as this. He feared the vulnerability. 

“Can I..?” Aspen’s voice was just barely inaudible, to the point that Jason thought he had imagined it at first. 

In a similar fashion, he nods, but almost imperceptibly, especially in the darkness. 

Very steadily, Aspen moved their own hand into Jason’s, the rest of their fingers finding the inside of his palm. The slow pace at which their fingers moved, combined with the lightness of their touch, created a pleasurable but gentle sensation which he had never before felt, like being tickled, but not nearly so abrupt or oppressive. His anxiety heightened as their hand moved forward, their fingers filling the spaces between his own, causing them to interlock. They clasped him with a gentle squeeze, quickening his heartbeat once again. He closes his hand very softly, for the first time in his adult life feeling as though he was lacking in strength. Aspen could feel him shaking, and tried to calm him by running their thumb over the back of his hand and index finger. Neither of them could tell if it was making things better or worse. 

It turns out that some afflictions can be cured with nothing other than time. Despite initial panic, after their hands were settled together, each minute that passed became a little more bearable. His heart began to slow again and his breathing almost returned to normal as he accepted that Aspen would not hurt him, nor would they leave or reject him. He could feel their heat warming his icy flesh, and from it, managed to gather the strength required to return a gentle squeeze to them, even if it was very belated. 

Neither of them wanted to disturb the other, nor did they want to give the other the impression that they did not want to be close to them. So instead of risking their parting, they enjoyed the sweet, empty silence there in the grass, until they fell asleep. 


	8. Chapter 8

As lovely as it was to sleep that way, waking up was much less pleasant, although not for any reason related to last night.

_“Yep. This bitch is toast.”_

_“Jesus Christ! Dude, let’s get the fuck outta here!”_

…? 

_“Don’t be such a little pussy._

_“Uh, you guys? The girl’s moving.”_

Yeah, those were real, alright. Getting up was the last thing Aspen wanted to do. Everything hurt from sleeping on the ground. But they had to. They lifted their head, groggy and blinded by the unexpectedly strong sunlight. They could feel the lines on their face from being face-down in the grass. They looked around, and counted.. five people. 

“Whoa! She’s alive!” 

“Yeah, no shit. Why wouldn’t she be?” 

“Uh.. she does kinda look like she crawled out of a hole..” 

Aspen didn’t know what to do. They were sure they looked tired, and probably confused, too. In other words, they looked how they felt. 

“..Hello?” 

“You okay, girlie?” a bespectacled boy offered a hand to them, which they did not take. “We thought you were gone for sure.” 

“ _You_ two thought that,” retorted a messy-haired girl. 

“Whatever!” the other boy growled at her. “Kelly and Elizabeth thought she was dead, too.” He motioned to the remaining girls. 

"I guess you do look alright, now that I get a good look at you," one of the girls said, seeing a lack of any injuries on their form. 

“Dead..?” Aspen blinked a few times before inspecting themself. Okay, they were kind of dirty. But not _that_ dirty, right? 

“Yeah, you picked a real bad place to sleep, girl.” 

“..what? Why?” 

“Jesus, you really not know where you are? You hit your head or something?” 

“You’re at _Camp Crystal Lake._ ” pitched in Kelly, or maybe Elizabeth. Aspen didn’t know which was which. 

“..oh.” Of course they were, right where they fell asleep. They didn’t know what else to say. They were neither surprised nor scared in the slightest. 

“They say a serial killer lives here. Not a great place for napping.” the boy with the glasses chuckled. 

“...” Aspen was silent. They had not prepared for this conversation. Everyone stared at them. They could feel their eyes burn through Aspen’s skull as they waited for their response which would not come. They had no pre-prepared script to access, no previous encounter of a similar nature. And with every passing second, they could feel the outsiders’ opinion of them start to sour and curdle as they realized that _something was wrong with them._ They had to say something. 

“You should leave.” 

That was maybe not the correct thing to say if the goal was to seem ‘normal.’ Their gazes shifted between each other with variable expressions, from concern to skepticism. 

“We should? You were just sleeping on the ground..” 

“Um, was attacked..” Aspen raised their arms, trying to emphasize their attacker’s fearsome size. They cannot tell if it was conveyed properly. The teenagers just looked confused. 

“You were..?” 

Aspen nodded. 

The story itself was believable given the camp’s reputation, and Aspen’s dirty, disheveled appearance seemed consistent with someone who had been chased down through the forest. That said, the most important feature was missing: actual injuries. If they were truly attacked by the legendary Crystal Lake Killer, then why were they alive right now? They didn’t have any visible injuries whatsoever. Plus, if they were attacked, where was the perpetrator now? It’s not like Aspen was hiding. They were asleep in an open field. Clearly, the teenagers had put these pieces together, doubting the story as Aspen had claimed it, even if the premise itself was believable. 

“Are you.. okay?” one of the girls asked them. It was not said with the tone or urgency that one might expect if the object had been potentially injured or attacked. No, it was said with the awkward delicacy that Aspen was all too familiar with. Despite their attempts to do the exact opposite, they had only solidified the idea that something was wrong with them, that they were ‘not all there,’ as the euphemism goes. ‘A few screws loose,’ if you will. 

“Yeah. Fine.” Aspen got up, rejecting the help of any of the teenagers’ hands, brushing off the dirt from their clothes. 

“Do you need to go to.. er, the hospital, or..?” obviously not, because they were not injured. It was probably meant to be a more tactful way of saying, _“Shouldn’t someone be looking after you?”_

“No.” Aspen did not think that continuing their conversation would help either party. So they didn’t. Their gaze shifted between the teenagers, who all watched them. All five would probably be dead within a few days, assuming they did not heed Aspen’s warning, which they most likely would not. Not wishing to dwell on it, nor spend too much unnecessary time learning their faces and persons, they turned towards the forest, leisurely beginning to make their way back to the house. None of the teenagers stopped them, even though the thought had come to a few of them. They hardly knew what to do in this sort of situation, nor how to interpret Aspen’s shift in mood. Instead, they exchanged some questioning whispers between each other before setting out on their original purpose of exploring the camp. 

As Aspen made their way home, they replayed the interaction in their mind as they remembered it. Needless to say, it did not go as well as their first interaction with outsiders, and these five people might die because of it. They considered if there was anything different they could have said or done, so as to save them. But it was not always entirely in Aspen’s hands. They couldn’t have known they would be woken up there by a group of people, and they couldn’t have been expected to prepare a script and scenario so as to dissuade them from staying. Even so, they could not help but feel some degree of bloodguilt. 

Other parts of the conversation picked at their brain. 

_Bitch. Girlie. Girl. She._

They all felt like insults. The first one could reasonably be taken as offensive, but the others could not. They always felt a strange discomfort when they were perceived in such a way. Assigning a person a gender was practically automatic, as was ‘required’ for social interaction, whether simply for use of gendered terms, or to determine whether or not a person was a potential sexual partner, or how to treat them in other aspects. Aspen did not have to deal with it when it was just themself and Jason, as he didn’t use gendered terms with any regularity, save for ‘mother.’ But outsiders were often different. 

It’s not that Aspen wanted to be a man, nor did they feel like one. They just didn’t feel like a woman, either. Aspen was just.. Aspen. It was the inexplicable feeling of being trapped within a physical body that would inevitably signal to others that Aspen had to have a sex, and the social convention which necessitated that other people ascertain what that sex was. While on the outside, they asked Ms. Stewart if she would use only ‘they’ and gender-neutral words for Aspen. She didn’t quite understand their reasoning, and it took a while to get used to it, both probably at least in part a consequence of her age. But eventually, she became used to it. Unfortunately, it did not change how they were perceived by new and unfamiliar people. Aspen would never correct them. And now, they had to deal with it again, with outsiders.

They were a little glad to have some solitude. 

They spent the bulk of the next several days in the tunnels. In the mornings, they would water the garden and prepare food as needed. They would then retreat back underground. They did not want to go to the lake or the campsite, well aware that nothing good could be happening. Jason’s absence indicated that the trespassers had not left after all, and although Aspen had accepted their fate, they did not want to be present to watch them die. Even traversing the forest was off-limits, as victims often fled into the woods when they were being pursued. In their panic-stimulated condition, they rarely considered that they were at a severe disadvantage running through the unfamiliar woods. Their chance of survival almost instantly dropped to zero when they entered the forest. 

Aspen had anticipated that Jason would be gone for a couple of days as he dispatched the group of teenagers. But three days turned to four, and four to five. Even with a relatively sizable group, it was a rate of one kill per day: much too slow to be effective. Aspen assumed that more must have come in. Over a week passed, and still no sign of Jason. When they went upstairs, into the main house, they saw no indication that he had stopped by at any point. Obviously, he could be very subtle when he was hunting, but when he wasn’t focused on stealth, it was easy to tell where he’d been. His stomping around usually left muddy or bloody footprints on the porch, or indentations in the terrain, usually in the form of crushed leaves. But there was nothing of the sort. Neither were there any new signs of blood. 

By this point, the days had begun to blur together, and they stopped keeping track of how many had passed. Their sleep schedule was ravaged by isolating themself in the perpetually-dark tunnels, sometimes waking in the evening and falling asleep in the morning. During their wake, they were almost unbearably tired, wishing they could just go back to sleep. And yet, at night, their anxiety about Jason’s condition and whereabouts kept them awake. 

They just wished he’d come home. 

***

When Aspen woke up, the clock indicated it was 5:40 PM. 

They buried their head into the pillow, dreading having to live through the exact same day they’d had every single day since Jason disappeared: water the plants, eat some bread, and then worry, worry, worry. It didn’t help that his disappearance happened immediately after they had gotten a little bit closer. A bit of alone time was okay, just to process things, but it had long-since become excessive. Aspen dug their fingers into the pillow, thinking of holding his hand again. It was almost funny how anxious they had been during that moment. Something which was probably so commonplace and mundane for the average person nearly put both of them in fight-or-flight mode. 

Aspen didn’t entirely know how they felt about Jason. He was a murderer, after all, and they would likely never be able to reconcile on the basis of that point. It was why they’d tried to get outsiders to leave before he could actually kill them. Not only for the victims’ own sakes, but also for the selfish reason that they wanted to avoid that fact as much as possible. It wasn't something they'd be able to avoid forever, though.

Aspen thought it was probably accurate to say they loved him, but what exactly that meant was much more complicated. Certainly as a teenager, they had wanted him the worst kind of way, indulging in hormone-induced fantasies about him regularly. Later in their teen years, they had abandoned hope that they’d ever know each other that way as his fervor for his mother increased and their closeness proportionally waned. Instead, they dreamt about him cutting their body, believing that this was the closest thing to carnal consummation that they’d ever be able to have. The scars of those fantasies remained on Aspen’s body as a permanent reminder. 

But they didn’t want that anymore. They really did want to be close to him, and they didn’t want to believe that the only way they could achieve that was through violence. They didn’t want to believe that Jason’s personhood was this inherent violent force, physically incapable of expressing and sharing compassion. It was unclear as to whether he thought himself capable of that, but Aspen was convinced that he was. They had held hands, and he did not hurt them. Yes, he was unbelievably anxious, Aspen could feel it. But he didn’t pull away. Before they fell asleep, it even seemed like.. he might’ve liked being close, too. 

Their actions and the motives that informed them always seemed so antithetical. Jason killed people for his mother. Aspen pined after people for companionship. But they fundamentally wanted the same thing: to be loved. 

… 

As a teenager, they thought about what their first time would be like with Jason. Aspen brought their arms around their midsection, mimicking a hug as they recall it. His cold, rough skin against their fingertips, his earthy scent intensifying as they drew in close. 

Aspen closes their eyes. 

He would move those calloused hands down their body, his cool touch sending chills throughout. Down their sides, their hips, over their thighs. He’d put his hands on their knees and open up their legs. 

Aspen follows, opening their legs as their own hands move downward. 

He’d bring his hand between their legs, fingers finding that little, sensitive nub. He wouldn’t be able to say anything, let alone ask what they liked, so he’d just watch their face, their expressions telling him exactly how they wanted to be touched. 

“Like that--” Aspen actually whispers into the empty room as they act it out. “So, so good, Jason..” 

As he touched them, they would start to open, his fingers moving downward for a brief moment, only to feel how wet they had gotten. His body would respond in turn, and as he leaned in, they’d feel his tip grind against them, his fingers still rubbing them. His other hand would find its way under their shirt, fondling their chest. And it would just be too much-- 

And indeed, it was too much: Aspen had to momentarily stop their daydreaming, lest they climax too soon. 

\--just too much, they wanted him inside, so, so badly. So they grinded back against him, hoping that he’d finally end this torture. But he wouldn’t. He was having too much fun watching them helpless under him. They’d use their own hands to take off his mask, bringing him into a deep kiss, tongues finding each other, a thin strand of saliva connecting them as they broke away. By now, their body felt so empty it was almost painful, desperately needing to be filled. 

“Jason, please..” 

They’d gently stroke his hard length while guiding him to their entrance. Slowly, he’d push inside, the entirety becoming enveloped as they pressed against each other. They’d let out a little moan, completely involuntary, now lost to instinct: a natural impulse. 

And every time he’d thrust, they’d find their whimpering escape again, in spite of how soft and gentle he was. He would become warm as they held him tightly, sweat dripping down their own body. His hand would begin fondling them again as he moved faster, and a series of spasms would travel through their hips, they’d hold him as tightly as their feeble arms could muster, their legs wrapping around his hips and forcing him deep inside. They’d let out a final moan-- no, practically a scream-- as they felt his seed pour out. He’d kiss them as the last few contractions ran through him. 

That would be how it went. After that, there was no turning back. They would be bound together, forever. 

***

After their self-gratification, they did the best they could to clean up without access to the lake. It’d been a long time since they’d been able to bathe, having been too worried to venture to the campsite. After doing their daily chores, they decided to take a break from staying cooped up in the bedroom where it was all too easy to get lost in one’s thoughts. They brought their oil lamp onto the porch, along with a book, and read for the remainder of the night. During this time, they were pleasantly surprised to have heard no screams, nor gasping or even running. A few small steps were heard, but they were probably from some curious animal, not a human. The fireflies danced again tonight, visible both up-close under the veranda and as the tiniest dots, far away between the trees. The air was mostly filled by the chirping of nocturnal insects, coming in regular intervals and steady streams. But for a few brief moments in the night, the creatures of the woods hushed. This did not mean Aspen was left in silence, however. There was still the sound of Earth. It was the most subtle of all sounds, audible only in complete quietude, her tiny whispers like the continuous ringing of bells, high-pitched notes which ran through the air, pervading every bit of her atmosphere. Apparently, the word that the outside world used to describe it was “tinnitus.” 

Around the time that the sun began to rise again, its light poking orange rays through the trees, Aspen decided it was time to go to sleep. They gathered their lamp and book before heading underground, snuffing out the light upon reaching the bed. They settled back under their sheets and bunched up the blankets next to them, holding it tightly as they drifted off, only to be woken up unexpectedly only a few hours later. Aspen knew they hadn’t slept an entire eight hours, evident by the dull throbbing in their head. 

A few gentle footsteps could be heard close to the entrance. Someone was inside. 

It was not an outsider. They would not be moving so quietly and tediously. Sure enough, the person crawled into bed, collapsing against it with a heavy thump. 

“Jason..” 

There was no response, unsurprisingly. Ironically, the absence of a response was one in itself, confirming his identity. 

“Missed you..” 

Still nothing. No movement whatsoever. Aspen wondered if he just passed out as soon as he hit the bed. 

They scooted a little closer to his side, slowly but surely closing the gap between them. This, still, elicited no response, either because he did not realize they were moving closer, or he just didn’t care. They brought a hand upward, a single index finger finding his form in the darkness. The other fingers followed, resting against his arm. Aspen immediately felt him tense. So he wasn’t unconscious after all. 

Their hand slid downward, his body becoming more rigid as it did so. He felt like he was holding his breath. Aspen stopped at his waist. Only then, after a few more seconds, did he finally exhale. They waited a few moments more before they moved forward, wrapping their arm around him, little hand resting against his heavy chest. Their body and face pressed against his back. Yeah. He did smell like earth. Aspen could feel his heart beating unhealthily fast against their hand, like a rabbit caught in the inescapable grip of its predator. This man had killed countless people. It was so strange to think about the things which scared him. 

But much like that last night they spent together, it eventually subsided. His body relaxed, his heart slowed, and Aspen could feel his warm breath against their hand. The last thing they remembered was his own hand coming to his chest, placed gently over theirs. 

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

Much to Aspen’s dismay, Jason’s return would be transitory. They were both astonished and overjoyed when he was still present when they woke up a while later, still wrapped up in their arms. He must have been exhausted. He was an unusually light sleeper, so Aspen had to be very careful when wiggling away from him. 

Their disappointment would set in shortly after beginning the daily chores at around 3 in the afternoon. While watering the plants, they hear the all-too familiar sound of army boots running through the house. Sure enough, as they walked closer to the door, Jason swung it open with unthinkable aggression, making Aspen flinch as it slammed against the wall. His head swivels to them, his dilated pupils constricting slightly upon seeing them, but the tension in his stance remaining. His machete, locked in his fist, shook as he barely held back the blinding urge to slaughter whoever stepped foot in his territory. 

“Going?” 

He nodded. 

“Okay.” 

..that’s it? Yes, he would very much like to go. That disgusting feeling of insects under his skin only intensified as the intruder moved closer to the campsite. But was Aspen really going to drop it so easy? In the past, nearly every time they managed to catch him about to go on a hunt, they’d fight with him. 

He tilted his head. 

“Can’t stop you, right?” 

Yeah, he supposed they couldn’t. He’d never been moved by their begging. The outsiders always died. Even so, they were dropping it after being so vehement in the past? Had being on the outside convinced them that these people were rotten, or did they simply become accustomed to the violence that was so prevalent out there? Whatever the case, they’d certainly changed in some way in the last few years, and while it did make things easier, it also felt a little off somehow, in a way that Jason was unable to explain. 

Still, he wasn’t about to sign to them,  **“PLEASE ARGUE WITH ME,”** nor was he sure he’d be able to do it properly with his head clouded with bloodlust. So he only nodded, readjusted his grasp on his blade’s handle, and disappeared into the woods. 

Again, Aspen had absolutely not become okay with Jason killing innocents, but what could they do right now? They didn’t know if it was possible to change his homicidal instincts in general, but it definitely wasn’t going to happen when he was in this state. 

Although the absences never became nearly as long as the first one, most of July would continue in this fashion, in which he would disappear and reappear without warning to dispatch trespassers. The house had taken on the consistent miasma of rot, emanating from the upstairs altar, where bodies accumulated. Once the decay had become sufficiently intolerable, Jason would remove the corpses to dispose of them in shallow graves or the lake. Aspen almost wished that their home-- that is, the forest, campsite, and the rest of their (or his) territory-- were smaller, so that the process of stalking, murdering, and disposing was not as time-consuming. Moreover, Jason’s supernatural ability to sense his prospective victims was described as similar to “insects under his skin”-- a flowery metaphor which led Aspen to think that the voluminous empty space only facilitated Jason’s belief that outsiders were skittering about his home like vermin. Maybe if he were forced to be closer to them in a smaller space, he might see them as  _ people  _ rather than simply humans… although that was probably wishful thinking. 

Through the month, Aspen continued doing the bare minimum of their chores and spent the evenings and nights outside. Victims were not as likely to rush into the forest at night. Aspen and Jason both reckoned that humans probably have some level of innate fear of the dark, or rather, what might be lurking within it. In spite of the invention of lamps and flashlights, the latter of which is now included on most ‘phones’ nowadays, humans cannot ever fully shed what is ingrained in their very being. No matter how much they might claim to be rational, logical beings who do not believe in spirits or monsters, and no matter the supposed effectiveness of their technology, humans will always fear the dark. 

Including Aspen. 

Not for the exact reason as most who find themself in this forest. In a sense, it was the same, in another sense, it was the inverse. Aspen had done very well to avoid seeing others die so far this summer. Seeing corpses was unavoidable, but seeing a dead body-- even a grisly one-- was much different from seeing that dead body be produced. 

Being outside during the nighttime was, in some way, a compromise, as they wanted to get out of the increasingly-depressing tunnels, even though it was probably the most inaccessible location in their domain. Simply sitting on the porch at nighttime was not the worst place to be, but there was always the risk they might run into someone; or rather, someone might run into them. 

And eventually, one particularly sticky night that July, Aspen’s fear of the dark would be realized. 

They almost didn’t hear it. They were so enamored with their reading that the thumping of footsteps blended into the symphony of the forest, their distracted brain interpreting it as improvisation rather than a disruption. 

_ “O' Most Ancient God, Thou who art all vigour and yearning of Life! Ever-fertile, blacker than the Tomb's own earth; Enduring art Thou as the Sovereign Oak of the Forest. O' Incubi Most Insatiable! Haunt not the slumber of our dormant Sexualities as a dim revenant of lusts, but rise up: the Gnarled Edifice of Supreme Desolation, the Great Horn'd God 'pon the Isolate Peak!”  _

Only upon pausing the in their poetry did they pick up on that strange sound. The frantic crunching of leaves, becoming louder with each step. Someone was running through the woods, and Aspen had no doubt they would run towards the only light in the forest: their lamp. They shut the book, moving to gather the lamp, but they noticed the footsteps much too late. When they looked down to get the lamp, before they could even seize the handle, their shoulders were accosted by the hands of a man they’d never seen. Their gaze shot up at him, feeling his hot, panic-stricken breath against their forehead. 

“Miss, please,” he managed to pant out. “Help help, please help! Chasing, a man is chasing--” he turns around, his eyes darting around the blackness in vain. His face is flushed and dripping with sweat, and when he looked at Aspen again, his heavy green eyes were full of terror. 

Aspen opened their mouth as they stared at them, needing to squeak something out, but at a complete loss as to what. 

“I--” 

Whatever they would’ve said would’ve been useless anyway. Their eye contact is broken, but not by either of them, and not willingly. It is interrupted by a machete entering the side of his head at his temple. The blade dragged through his skull, through his eyes, bursting them open, and eventually completely removing his scalp. The exertion caused blood and viscera to splatter out of his head, spraying Aspen with hot liquid and gelatinous pieces of brain matter. Jason shoved the lifeless body onto its side, revealing Aspen standing there, stupefied. Their mouth, which was still open, tasted of iron, and a chunk of something foreign was inside. 

Making eye contact with Jason, his pupils constricted and his shoulders relaxed with disturbing casualness. He tilts his head at them. 

Aspen says nothing. They look down, the backs of their hands still against their chest in a useless defensive stance. They open their mouth a little wider and move their tongue back, an involuntary gag helping along saliva. Their spit was red, and a pinkish lump of pinkish tissue fell out, squelching against the porch. 

_ “Ugh…”  _ Aspen could manage nothing except a guttural moan upon seeing what was in them, their stomach beginning to turn. 

Jason only stood there, watching them. 

“Pl..” they had to close their eyes to force any words out. “Get it out of here.” 

Jason tilted his head again, which Aspen could not have seen with their downward gaze. He could sense that something was wrong, a mix of unknown emotions rising to his friend’s face. He took a few steps closer, extending his hand towards their face, which they saw in their periphery. 

_ “NOW.”  _ Aspen barely keeps themself from screaming. 

Jason instinctively recoils. He is unsure if he really should leave them when they look so unwell, but their voice was very definitive about the matter. Silently, nervously, he retrieves the scalp, and grabs the body by its arm, dragging it inside. When they heard the body thumping as Jason tugged it up the stairs, they walked over to the railing, pushing their stomach against it and looking over it to the ground. They gag again, spitting up mostly-clear saliva into the dead leaves below. A second gag yielded nothing. With the third, they vomited up the contents of their stomach as it came up in waves. They spit after each expulsion, trying to get the revolting taste out of their mouth, only for more to come up. Even when they were empty, their body tried forcing more out, and Aspen could do nothing but spit. 

They closed their eyes and tried to steady their breath. The nausea slowly subsided, but as it did, tears forced themselves up instead, and gags were replaced with sobbing. They stood there, their stomach pressed against the railing, just crying. Eventually they curled their arms together and buried their face in it, hoping their crying would be at least partially muffled. Not that it mattered. It was just Aspen and Jason, the latter of whom had almost definitely heard the former coughing up their insides earlier. The only other person just had their brains splashed against.. well, Aspen. 

They cried until their energy had completely left them, emotionally and physically drained. Their crying was reduced into sniffles, and even those felt taxing on their exhausted body. As they began to lift their head, they felt a hand on their shoulder. 

Of course, there was only one person who it could have been, so Aspen was not surprised to see him. They did wonder, though, how long he’d been there. How long had they been crying? It felt like a long time, although Aspen couldn’t have given an exact estimate. They presumed he was just standing there, watching them that whole time. It was pretty creepy to think about, although his eyes looked almost remorseful. Probably not remorse for his actions, but at least for how it had obviously affected them. 

Jason didn’t want them to be so upset, and it was obvious that they were. At first, he thought that they were sick when they began vomiting, and he became concerned that Aspen had been alone all day. But when they started sobbing afterwards, he knew it was something else. He didn’t quite understand why. Aspen had been acting so strange and contradictory. The other day, they didn’t even try to stop him from hunting. So he thought it didn’t bother them anymore. But now they had just had such an extreme reaction. What was going on? How did they feel? Why did they react that way, and if it bothered them, then why did they act like it didn’t before..? 

He pet their shoulder. This was.. out of his comfort zone. He almost never initiated physical contact, but Aspen had been so touchy-feely lately, and he thought they’d appreciate it. They made a weird face at first, like disgust. He thought they might actually push him away, but the grimace faded into resignation, or something like it. 

“Jason..” they sighed, wiping the tears from their puffy eyes. “What am I supposed to do with you..?” 


End file.
